


A Lord's Love

by cloudsinmycoffee9



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Marriage, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 81,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsinmycoffee9/pseuds/cloudsinmycoffee9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>well. i let her wake up. :) I had SO many ideas about how to torture her/us with her coming out of the coma thing, but in the end, I couldn't stand it any longer! what do you think?</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Ned!” she called up to where he sat at the head table, “Come dance with me, my lord!” Her face was flushed from the turns she had taken around the floor with their son, Robb. He could see strands of her beautiful hair were escaping from the intricate style she had worn tonight especially for this feast their family was throwing for the lords and ladies of the North.

The men had been off dealing with skirmishes between northern tribes that didn’t officially fall under anyone’s jurisdiction, but the violence had been trickling into the villages. Lord Eddard Stark had been away for four months, leading the efforts for peace. He didn’t like being away from home for so long…but reunions were always sweet between him and his ever-growing family, and with his beautiful wife. Knowing by the ravens he had had sent exactly when to expect the victorious men to return to Winterfell, Lady Stark had organized a truly wonderful banquet to begin almost directly upon their return. He had shared a warm embrace and whispers of affection with Lady Stark in the courtyard within moments of sliding off his horse, but since then, not nearly enough contact to ease the ache of missing his wife four months had wrought upon him.

“It gives me sufficient pleasure to watch you from here, my lady. Unless, of course, you find fault with your partner. He appears to be a bit of a novice.” Ned smiled down at Robb, holding hands with his mother.

“I am trying, Father. Mother’s toes keep getting in my way,” Robb answered. Catelyn clapped her hands together and laughed. Ned had seen his son eyeing several of the girls around the castle lately…it seemed he was practicing his steps with his lady mother.

Catelyn was indeed a good dancer, and he loved watching her coach their son, but his arms longed to hold her. He had already watched her dance with several of their guests before she convinced Robb to take a turn. Despite his dread of dancing, for he truly lacked the skill or patience for it, he felt himself rising out of his chair as the players began a lively tune.

Before Ned could quite stand, he heard the loud voice of Lord Umber as he approached Catelyn.

“Lady Stark, this is too fine a song and you are too lovely a lady to be begging for dance partners! Allow me to escort you.”

“My lord,” Catelyn curtseyed to Lord Umber even as she looked to her husband, locking eyes with him almost as if asking for his permission to dance yet another number with another man. Ned felt his jaw clench just a bit before he lowered himself back into his seat and gave a slight nod to his lady wife.

Lord Umber led Lady Stark between the other couples on the floor with a grace unexpected of a man better known for his volume and vulgarity. The dance required the quick steps Ned has never been able to master, but Lord Umber and Lady Catelyn looked the picture of proper Lord and Lady – laughing and twirling about the dance floor among their people.

Lord Stark signaled for another glass of wine, his eyes never leaving the dance floor as he watched his wife glide smoothly around the room. It wasn't the first time he had felt pricklings of jealousy at another man's attentions towards Catelyn. She was beautiful and everything a lady should be. They may not have married full of romantic love toward each other - though he could recall in splendid detail every moment of their wedding night - but their years together had only seen her increase in beauty in his eyes. Her natural intelligence, kindness, and secretly wicked sense of humor he only saw in rare moments when they were alone endeared her to him all the more. He was proud to call her his Lady of the North.

"Father? Are you feeling well?"

Sansa's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Sansa! What is it?" Ned shook his head slightly, as if to clear his thoughts.

"I asked if you were feeling well. You are gripping your chair and I don't think you've blinked for a few minutes!" Sansa giggled.

"I'm sorry, daughter. I was just...lost in my thoughts," Ned replied.

"Is something the matter then? What are you staring at?"

On the floor, Ned watched as another lord took Catelyn's hand for the next dance.

He glanced down at the spitting image of the woman whose face he'd indeed been eyeing so intently.

"Nothing is the matter, daughter. I've just been admiring your mother's quick steps." They both looked at Catelyn, spinning gracefully in some man's arms. "I expect you will look as beautiful as she does some day, dancing around the halls with great lords all battling for your attentions." Sansa blushed as Ned spoke, and he reached out to brush her cheek. "But all those knights in armor will first be needing to get through me, your brothers, a pack of direwolves, win a few tourneys, and some other formal processes I am developing before they are allowed anywhere _near_ my daughters."

"Father! You wouldn't!" Sansa cried.

"You've a few years yet to find out," Ned teased.

Sansa rolled her eyes, unsure of how much truth he was telling, and turned back to the floor, where the GreatJon had claimed Catelyn for yet another song. "Mother is a beautiful dancer, isn't she? She looks so happy."

Ned glanced at Catelyn in time to see her lean in to hear something the Greatjon was whispering conspiratorially to her, and then she caught eyes with Ned and began to laugh with Lord Umber. Ned felt his mouth go dry and he abruptly pushed his chair back from the table. He swallowed the rest of his wine in one gulp and reached to refill it.

He walked to the windows, uncomfortable with obviously being the butt of some joke between his lady wife and Lord Umber. He just needed some fresh air, he told himself, as he stared up at the sky, filled with many stars that may or may not guide their lives. What did they hold for him and his family? he wondered.

He knew men looked upon his wife with lust in their eyes, and thought Ned too cold and unfeeling to deserve such a woman. He often didn't think he deserved her himself, knowing that despite what had led to their union, the gods had blessed him beyond all reason in Catelyn. It both pleased him and troubled him somehow. He normally kept these feelings, and all others, under strict control, and _never_ voiced them to his wife. But tonight, with he and his men returning from a long absence from the presence of women, the ale and wine flowing, the soldiers toasting their lovely hostess over and over...

...and the way her hair was falling down her back over the Greatjon's hand where it sat gripping her waist...and the way her face and eyes and smile had relaxed into enjoyment of the songs and the steps...

"My lord," he heard Catelyn's voice from behind him, cutting through the haze of his unwanted emotions. He felt her fingers trail along his back and then her arm linked through his, her head coming to rest upon his shoulder. "The stars are beautiful tonight, aren't they, my love? I feel as though they brought you home to me with good fortune. They seem brighter than usual."

Ned looked down at his wife, skin flushed and panting somewhat from the dancing. His eyes wandered over her body before he spoke. Despite the years and five children she had borne him, her figure was still as beautiful as the day they wed - made softer and rounder, perhaps, but he knew her body as well as his own. He quelled an unbidden rush of desire and glanced back up at the sky.

Ned cleared his throat and replied, "It is good to be at Winterfell again. I've been gone longer turns than four months, to be certain, but..."

"We missed you here, my lord. I know it wasn't a truly dangerous journey, but...to have you back safe again, Ned. I thank the old gods and the new," Catelyn's voice trembled a bit as she spoke and she squeezed his arm.

Ned swallowed the rest of his wine and said "You and our guests seem to be celebrating with joy. I enjoy watching you take such pleasure in your dancing."

Cat pulled away to look at him as he changed the subject. "Do you, my lord? You did not appear to be enjoying yourself just now when I saw you leave the table."

Unsure of what to say, Ned huffed and started sliding her arm out of his. "We should return to the guests, my lady."

"Oh, please, stay a moment with me, my love. Watch the stars?"

He knew he should just say 'yes' and enjoy the quiet moment with his wife. The guests and the duty would be there in a few minutes when they returned. But something he could not name, maybe it was wounded pride or childish fears and doubts, made him want to avoid talking further with Catelyn at the moment. He did not know what he would say.

"I saw plenty of the stars, sleeping on the ground during four months of battle. We should return."

Catelyn looked a little surprised and hurt at his rejection of her request. "Ned," she said, "Is there something the matter?"

Avoiding her eyes, Ned looked back at the dance hall, where the men were leading another round of toasts "To Winterfell!" "For the North!" "To Lord and Lady Stark!" and the music still played.

"Come, before the soldiers note the absence of their beautiful host," he said, somewhat sarcastically.

Catelyn raised her eyebrows at that. "And of their victorious lord, I should think," she added, pointedly.

Ned sighed and moved to lead her back to the table, but she remained rooted at her spot. Catelyn looked up in his face, as he studiously continued to avoid her eyes, wishing one of their children would call to her so that he could escape.

"My love," Catelyn tugged at his arm, "I know something is amiss. Please, tell me."

Ned willed himself to put on a smile and continue their evening. But he knew he would not be able to fool his wife.

"Lady Stark, we should return to our guests. I do not mean to distract you from the dance floor. Truly, all will be well," he said.

Catelyn flinched at the use of 'Lady Stark' when it was just the two of them in the alcove. She was usually just 'Cat.' Something must be truly bothering her husband. She could not think of what she had done...but then she grew brave.

"My love.....I do not know what it is that is troubling you, but you've only been home a few hours, so I cannot know if this is it, but I must ask. Do you not like that I would dance with the others?"

Damn, he thought, the woman could read his mind.

"My lady...I...," he sighed. "I very much want you to enjoy yourself. I know how you love to dance. Come." He reached to pull her again.

"But Ned, I've only just had you home but you look angry. Please, husband, I would have you happy to be home with me. Tell me," She insisted, resisting his leading arm and remaining where she was.

He looked up at the stars for inspiration or the right words to say. He didn't want to have this conversation. Ned knew he was being juvenile about the whole thing; to stalk off from the main table because Cat and the GreatJon, one of his most faithful bannermen, were waltzing around while he and his two left feet drank more wine than necessary. He was a better man than that.

Ned groaned inwardly. "Perhaps...well...in truth...Lord Umber just looked a little too...familiar...with you and I thought...perhaps he should not take such liberties with your...graciousness."

"My graciousness? I don't even know what you mean, my lord."

Ned could feel himself growing embarrassed and desperate to end the conversation, but he couldn't help what he said next. "To dance with you twice within three songs, whispering to the lady of his bannerman, and I'm not certain that the man's hands are supposed to be at the position they were-"

Catelyn leaned back in surprise, and as she processed what he was saying, he thought he saw a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Eddard Stark. Are you jealous?"


	2. Chapter 2

Her words hung in the air as he debated what to say. Of the limited emotions Eddard Stark allowed himself, and in the even smaller pool of emotions he would discuss out loud, even with Catelyn, “jealousy” did not rank.

Before he could decide how to deflect her question, her line of reasoning turned.

She placed her hands on his cheeks and forced him to look her in the eye.

“Ned,” Cat whispered as she drew him closer to her body, placing him in front of her as she stood with her back to the wall, so that no one in the Great Hall might see. “Have I given you reason to doubt me? Do you question my affection for you?”

“Gods, no, Cat. I wouldn’t insult you -“ she cut him off with a firm kiss on his lips as she stood on tiptoe.

He stilled under her kiss – their first shared in four long months.

She pulled away too quickly to look upon him again. “My love, I belong only to you. These men humor me and dance with any woman they see out there in the hall. You have all been away for months, and merely want company and smiles. I am sure none of them think of me at all – I am no longer young and there are certainly many women here far more beautiful than I – “

“Careful,” Ned interrupted, “as now you insult my lady wife and my pride with these untruths.”

She smiled at that, and continued. “Do not let this trouble you, please, my lord. You must know I would rather sit by your side all night than dance with a thousand of these men.”

Ned glanced down at her kind but urgent expression and sighed into her embrace, his arms wrapping around her waist.

“I am sorry, Cat. I just know how you love to dance, how you miss banquets... I can picture you laughing as you were tonight, breaking the hearts of eager young lords-“

“Hardly,” Catelyn laughed.

“Truly, my lady. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I wish I could dance well enough to not bring shame on us both. Four long months, Cat, and my men have spent more time with you than I have tonight. I am pleased you have given us this banquet; we are celebrating and I am proud to show my lady and my castle to my men. But...I can lead a war, yet not a waltz.” He gave a half-smile and turned away.

Catelyn looked up at her lord husband. He didn’t normally speak so openly about his affection for her. Her heart secretly fluttered at the notion that even after all these years, five babes, and what felt like a lifetime of both good and bad times, he could still look at her and be jealous of men she danced with. But that couldn't be all there was to his mood tonight...She knew he would always carry some burden of regret and doubt as the second son. He always saw himself as Brandon’s replacement, second-guessing his every move. He hadn’t received any of the attention or training Brandon had for the job – from leading his people down to dancing – but in her mind and in the minds of all who knew him, he was a just, wise, and honorable lord, in ways Brandon might not have been. How could he not see all she could see in him?

His face was turned from her in embarrassment. Cat cocked her head to the side for a moment, thinking. Then she stood on tiptoe once more, thread her hands through his hair, and began placing soft kisses along his throat.

Startled, he growled “Cat…what are you doing?” even as he pushed her back more firmly against the walls into the shadows.

Her fingers moved against the muscles in his chest, down his stomach, gripping his belt to pull him impossibly closer against her dress, which was starting to feel far too tight on her. She could feel his breath in her hair, feel him swallow hard against her kiss.

“Husband, I would like you to dance with me this night,” she whispered as she continued her trail of affection up to his ear, an area she knew made him – and yes, he drew in a sharp breath and his fingers were suddenly tight in her hair at the base of her neck.

“But I –“ he began, helplessly.

“But I grow tired of dancing on the floor of the Great Hall, my lord.”

He pulled back and cast a quizzical eyebrow at his wife.

"It has been four long months, my love...care to remind me how to dance in my bedchambers?"


	3. Chapter 3

She had giggled when he had grabbed her hand and quickly led her away from the Great Hall, still filled with revelers celebrating the men's return from fighting in the north.

"Ned, the children are still down there! And we haven't said goodnight to all your men! Should we be leaving so soon?"

Ned stopped abruptly on the stairs and turned to face her. "Four months, Catelyn Stark. If you didn't expect me to take your offer seriously, you should not have laid it on the table."

Her pulse had quickened at his tone, "oh," she whispered, and then picked up her skirts to move with more haste to her room.

"Gods, Ned," she panted into his neck as he quickly led them through her doorway and threw her back up against it, his hands cupping her face and tilting her head to kiss her properly. She whimpered against his mouth, her fingers scratching at his chest and into his hair. Her body squirmed against his, desperate for more contact, but he held her fast against the door, reveling in the taste of his wife. He pulled back to let them catch their breath, his hands winding in her hair, then skimming down her bodice, gripping her waist, and she could feel his hot breath against her neck as she felt his stiff cock against her belly. She drew her breath sharply before reaching for his mouth again. It wasn't enough.

They kissed, their hands flying at each other to remove clothing as fast as possible. Her cheeks were flushed and eyes filled with desire, "oh, quickly!" she cried as she turned her back to him for help with the laces, and he laughed at her lustiness, pulling her bottom against his own need pressed tight in his breeches. She gasped and threw her arms out against the door for leverage to roll her hips. He groaned with desire. "Not _too_ quickly, love. Four months, I remind you."

Catelyn stilled her hips and looked over her shoulder at him with her eyebrow raised. "Have you missed me, ser?" she asked saucily.

He paused for a moment as his dark eyes looked into hers. She wondered briefly if she'd said something wrong. But then Ned's hands left their work on her laces and reached forward to pull her dress down just enough that her breasts spilled out. Her arms were now trapped at her sides by the fabric and he swept her hair over one shoulder before placing his open mouth at her neck and gently sliding his fingers up to her nipples. Catelyn threw her head back and a throaty moan escaped her mouth when one of his hands started traveling lower, slowly, achingly slow, down her stomach and then to cup her sex through her dress. He could feel her heat even through the many layers she wore. She moaned again when he rocked his hips into her behind, pressing her against the door. She could feel the cool wood against her cheek and nipples, and her husband's chest hair grazing her shoulder blades as his tongue swirled across her neck. It was completely overwhelming.

"Yes, Cat. I have missed you." He rocked into her again and pressed his fingers against her until she moaned in frustration. He slowly kissed her ears, neck, and shoulders while massaging her breasts and rocking her against his hand. His pace quickened, her legs began to feel weak with the slide of his tongue across her shoulder blades in time with the stroking of his fingers between her legs. She frantically stretched her arms to try and grab any part of him that she could, but he had her trapped between him and the door, powerless to his relentless movements. They had never made love quite like this before.

"Ned, gods, please, please let me touch you. I cannot wait any longer, I cannot take anymore..."

He turned her around suddenly and their mouths met, teeth clashing. He pulled down the rest of her dress and her hands eagerly went to his hair and neck as he struggled to remove the rest of his clothing. They parted for a brief moment to pull off the last of their small clothes and then bodies met, both moaning at the sensation of skin on skin after so long. Catelyn instinctively raised one leg and Ned pulled it up around his hip and felt the heat between her legs against his cock as she eagerly grabbed his ass and seemed to try to climb up him. They stumbled to the floor on their pile of clothes, Ned on his back, and the smell of her dress and her hair all around him, the slickness of her sex he could feel against him, her breasts in his hands as she rose to straddle him was almost too much to bear.

"Cat," he cried hoarsely. She looked up at him through her tangled auburn hair come undone in their passion. She held him in her hand, poised at her entrance, and he could feel her heat coming off in waves.

"Yes, I missed you, too." And with that she guided him inside her, bracing her hands on his shoulders as he squeezed her breasts, and they both moaned as she slid down his length, her inner thighs pulsing and she registered the hair of his legs against her ass and calves, and his thumbs on her nipples, the way his jaw seemed to come unhinged with every rock of her hips. Cat could feel a mounting tension approaching release within her, and leaned her head back to ride it. Ned's hands moved to her hips and held her steady as she felt her thrusts becoming more erratic.

"Cat, Cat, Cat," she could hear him whispering her name like a plea or a prayer, she could not tell. She heard herself moaning in a way she couldn't control, and everything in the world went out of focus except the heat of her her husband's eyes on her body and the feel of him between her legs as she crested over the edge and down into his arms. He growled and turned her on her back quickly, groaning into her neck and pumping into her, each thrust like a burst of stars from inside her. She wrapped her arms around him as best she could and whispered into his ear "Come for me, Ned," and then she felt his hot, open mouth against her collarbone and his seed spilling inside her, one leg curled around his back against the sweat of his efforts.

She breathed in the scent of their love-making, stroking his shoulders and head, kissing his face softly until he found the strength to raise himself up and look down at her. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with pleasure, skin glowing, hair in every direction. He'd never seen something so beautiful.

She smiled up at him, a smile he'd only ever seen in their bedchambers, "Welcome home, my lord, my love," and pressed a palm to his cheek. He turned to kiss it, overwhelmed with love but unsure of what to say or how to say it. She simply murmured "my love, my love," again, and they got up and walked, albeit on shaky legs, to collapse against each other in her bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Nights such as last night's reunion and mornings like these chased all the ghosts and doubts either of them might have away.

Lady Catelyn Tully Stark was no longer the dutiful daughter made a Lady too soon by her mother's passing. She was no longer the girl playing a woman who felt robbed of her betrothed and settling for second-best in the younger, less dashing son. She was not the woman shamed for life with the presence of her husband's bastard.

In her bedchambers, she was just his Cat.

Lord Eddard Stark was not the shy, shadow of his brother who questioned every decision and cursed the fate that had been left to him when Brandon was killed. He forgot to torture himself with wondering if Catelyn would have been happier with Brandon, if Winterfell would have been better ruled and more prosperous under his brother's care. He stopped wondering what his father would say, and if he would ever feel that he had lived up to the high standards held by all Stark men for centuries before him, and gods willing, centuries to come.

In his wife's bedchambers, he was just Ned.

 _Her_ Ned, to be more specific. As Catelyn slowly opened her eyelids, she realized that for the first time in four months, she was finally warm enough, now that her lord husband had returned from the conflicts among the tribes. He still lay sleeping, his chest rising and falling against her back, his warm breath tickling her neck. He'd always loved to sleep with his face in her hair. "It smells of you and things that are good," he would say, whenever she teased him. His knees tucked behind hers - they always fit so well together - and his arm was wrapped securely around her waist, as if he wouldn't let her go. They hadn't fallen asleep in this position, but at some point in the night, must have turned and shifted and nestled into each other.

Catelyn sighed with happiness and wriggled closer to him, placing her arm atop his and squeezing it to give herself a hug with his body, as if to remind herself that he was truly home. "Mmm Cat..." he drawled sleepily, pressing a kiss to her hair, but still he didn't wake. Her whole body felt a delicious ache from their lovemaking and she brought his hand up to her mouth to kiss it softly. He shifted again behind her and his hand trailed down from her kiss to secure a hold on her breast. He squeezed her breast while he murmured an agreement to someone in his sleep, and she rolled her eyes. She needed to relieve herself and thought to take advantage before he truly woke, gently raising his arm and attempting to slide out from under his grip-

"No," he said, quite solidly for someone she knew to be quite asleep just seconds ago, and he clamped his arm back down. She laughed and swatted at him.

"Ned, please, let me go for just a moment. I will return."

"I will not. I like you here."

"Ned!" She giggled. "There are...things I must attend to!"

"I promised you in a sept long ago to provide for all your needs, my lady. You will stay with me here so that I may see to them." His hold on her tightened.

"Eddard Stark. Unhand your wife." He could hear a Tully tone in her voice. Gods, he'd missed her. He loosened his hold a bit.

"But if you get up, you will get dressed," he murmured. "I am not ready for you to get dressed."

"Well, that sounds very promising," she whispered. "Give me a minute, my love. I promise I will return as you see me now."

"Hmmph," was his response, and he let her go while he rolled over and hugged the pillow, reveling in the comforts of home, and falling back into a hazy, dreamlike state.

He must truly be tired, she thought. It was not like him to sleep past dawn, and there was probably much they needed to do this morning. She visited the chamber pot and rinsed her mouth out with the mint water, catching sight of herself in the looking glass. Her hair was a riot, but it wasn't to be helped. She sighed and went to sit next to him on the bed, gazing down at his sleeping form, lost in thought.

 

She remembered being slightly disappointed when Eddard Stark first arrived at Riverrun to replace Brandon as her husband. In truth, try as she might, she couldn't really remember what Brandon looked like anymore, only the feelings of that first sort of pretend love a young girl gets for her betrothed. And when Ned had arrived, solemn and shorter and in grief for his loss, she had spent the evening crying in her bedchamber, certain she could never be happy with such a man. As her maid had come to her to help her dress and set her hair for the evening banquet, Catelyn could not help but express her bitterness and heartbreak to Shanna's sympathetic ears.

"But, m'lady, remember he's just lost his whole family. I know he looks terribly serious now, but think of how his whole world has changed. All he's loved is gone, save his home. The battles he's been fighting - it must all seem like for nothing, now," Shanna had said, trying to console her.

Her words had stopped Catelyn's crying. She was right. Catelyn had hardly known more than the idea of Brandon, but poor Eddard had been robbed of everything he had known, and now had to marry a stranger a rule Winterfell and warden the North - things he had never been prepared or trained for as Brandon had. What an overwhelming responsibility he must be facing, in the wake of fresh grief.

Catelyn Tully knew duty; she had been raised to be a lady since her mother's death. She knew Eddard had great honor in accepting all this responsibility. Could they, two strangers, create a family together that would be as happy as she had been at home in Riverrun? What was there behind that solemn face of Eddard Stark?

Her dress that night, the night before they were to be wed in the sept, was a deep Tully house blue, but stitched with the silver of the direwolf that represented House Stark. Catelyn wasn't a vain young woman, but she knew she looked well enough in the dress, and felt herself blushing when Lord Stark, soon to be her husband, raised his eyes slowly from the floor to look at her, and seemed to stammer over his words, "My lady...you are...lovely." She bowed as gracefully as she had been taught, heart fluttering, and took his outstretched hand.

They had sat next to each other at the table, smiling at the guests that toasted to the new Lord and Lady Stark, and making polite conversation with all the well-wishers that came to the table. Whether it was the emotions of the evening, knowing she would be a married woman within a day, or the wine, or a combination of both, she could not say - but at some point, Catelyn reached over and took Eddard's hand into her own. He looked over to her quickly in surprise, before threading his strong fingers through hers with a look she could only describe as grateful.

She noticed he subtly inched his chair closer after that, and they spent the rest of the evening shoulder to shoulder, their hands clasped together under the table. She noted every polite and honest thing he said to each guest, gracefully accepting both the congratulations on his upcoming marriage, and the condolences from them when they had had too much wine and began to talk of his father, brother and sister. As the night wore on, Catelyn began to realize that he might not have the obvious charm and enthusiasm that Brandon had had, but to her Eddard began to seem perhaps more mature and trustworthy than Brandon. His thumb ran over her knuckles as he looked at her while one of his bannerman toasted to her beauty and blessed them with many children, and Catelyn found a fluttering in her stomach that was not unpleasant.

Brandon had told Catelyn during one of his visits that his brother never danced at banquets, for he was dull and had ill luck with the ladies. She remembered how Brandon had laughed at the stories he told of Eddard, and Catelyn had been horrified to hear him talk about his brother so. So she wasn't too surprised when Eddard turned to her before the musicians began and apologized, "I am sorry, Lady Catelyn, that I do not ask you to dance. I know you enjoy it, but I - "

"Lord Stark, I know it is not something that you enjoy, it is no matter. Your brother, in fact, used to tell me that dancing wasn't exactly something you did well," she teased. Immediately she felt ashamed and felt her cheeks turn red. This was an awkward enough situation without her reminding him that she had been betrothed to his now dead brother, who once used to tell stories about him. "I am sorry, my lord, I did not mean to- I do not want to offend- I should not have said-"

"No, it is fine," he squeezed her hand. "I'm sure Brandon told you any number of embarrassing stories about his helpless brother. Perhaps you can tell me one day, when it would be good to talk of him. But....I confess that I am not yet ready for something so...entertaining."

"My lord, it is no trouble. I need not dance." Catelyn desperately wished the floor would swallow her up.

"Please do if you wish to, I would not begrudge you."

Catelyn looked at him, grateful he did not seem truly offended. She took a deep breath and replied, "I grieve for our loss, too, my lord. I will stay with you."

Her words gave him pause, and he seemed on the verge of saying more, but at that moment Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn came up to the table to speak with Eddard about the arrangements for the wedding on the morrow, and the battle preparations afterwards. Catelyn smiled to herself at how quickly Eddard dropped her hand and shifted in his seat when he noticed her father approaching.

She noticed Lysa sitting alone and looking miserably out at the dancers on the floor, clutching yet another glass of wine. She rose to go and sit with her sister.

"Lysa, what troubles you, sister?" Catelyn asked as she put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Your hair looks beautiful tonight. I wish mine looked half as well."

Lysa jerked her shoulder away from Catelyn's touch, sloshing her wine. She turned to face Catelyn, who noticed her eyes were red rimmed glassy with unshed tears.

" _You_ would envy _me_ of something, sweet sister?" Lysa said sarcastically. "Don't degrade yourself." Catelyn's eyes widened in alarm.

"Lysa...what is the matter? Can I get you to drink some water, love? Or will you take a turn with me around the room and we could get some fresh air..."

"Don't trouble yourself, Cat," Lysa spit out, and she stalked off into the party. Catelyn sat and stared after her sister, confused at what had caused her to behave so, especially in a public setting that was celebrating her upcoming nuptials. Lysa had always been a little dramatic, but Catelyn still worried. Jon Arryn was older than the ideal age for marriage to Lysa, but still an agreeable and handsome enough man. Lysa could do far worse. She began to rise and go after her sister, when she heard her father clap his hands to address the hall.

"Thank you so much, our dear friends and family, for joining us to celebrate the joining of these houses with our own. We will celebrate again tomorrow evening, after the ceremony has taken place. I ask you all now to turn in for a good night's rest. I thank the old gods and the new that you can all be with our family for these few happy days." The guests cheered for Hoster Tully, who smiled at Catelyn, and then looked past her with a worried eye at Lysa's empty seat. Catelyn shrugged at her father, and then rose to bid Lord Stark goodnight.

"My lady," he said as he appeared at her arm, and she placed her hand over his as they walked out of the hall past the guests who were anxiously finishing their drinks and cheering for House Stark. When they were farther off from the eyes and ears of the hall, he turned to her, quietly saying, "May I wish you a good night...I have enjoyed myself more than I anticipated and...I thank you for...your graciousness."

Catelyn regarded his face carefully. It seemed to cost him a lot to speak so. She cocked her head to the side before grabbing his hands in hers. "I have enjoyed myself, as well, my lord." He looked up from the floor then into her eyes, and on impulse she reached up on her tiptoes to kiss first one cheek and then the other. He was smiling slightly as she stepped away. "Until tomorrow then, my lord." And with that, Catelyn had walked herself to her childhood bedchambers for her last night as an unwed woman.


	5. Chapter 5

Lost in remembering, Catelyn had not noticed that her husband had turned over and was smiling lazily at her. "Catelyn....I can _hear_ you thinking. It is too early for that."

He reached out to grab her hand that propped her up, knocking her off balance, and she fell sideways onto his chest, laughing.

"Oh, Ned. It is so good to have you here." She cuddled closer to him, throwing a leg over his. "The nights have been so lonesome...except when the children claim them, of course," she said as her hand grazed his chest.

"Indeed, my love, many lonesome nights," he replied, wrapping his arms tighter around her. She burrowed her smile into his neck - he didn't often call her 'my love.'

"What had you so deep in thought, Cat? Your eyes seemed far away."

She hesitated, a bit embarrassed to admit exactly where her thoughts had begun, and the direction in which they were headed.

"I, um, was thinking about...well..."

Ned looked down at her quizzically. Not much made his lady wife nervous. He was either in trouble or in for a treat.

"Cat...." he questioned.

She sighed in defeat.

"If you _must_ know, I was thinking about when we first met. Our first nights together."

"Oh. I see," he smiled. "The wedding and bedding. No wonder your nervous blush."

"No!" She swatted at him. "Well, maybe I almost was."

Ned looked meaningfully up and down his wife.

Noticing his lusty gaze, she continued... "I don't often think about the bedding because...in truth...I think the bedding has perhaps only improved with age," Catelyn said, accentuating her remark with a returned meaningful look up and down his body. Ned felt a sudden rush of desire. She continued, "though nights like last night...prove you have retained your, shall we say, youthful vigor?"

Ned swallowed and willed himself to be composed in answering. "I'm not sure I catch your meaning, my lady. I need you to be more.... _specific_ about "the bedding has improved."" Ned's voice was teasing, but his eyes looked dark and full of desire - Catelyn bit her lip.

"Well, my lord..." she began slowly, not sure how to explain herself, but wanting him to hear. "I mean...how well we have come to know each other here in my chambers. It is the way you...touch me. The way you know where to kiss me."

"I see." The silence between them hung with tension as he looked into her eyes. His fingers traced along her jawline, across her collarbone. Catelyn held her breath and waited. "Would you like me to kiss you now?" Ned whispered.

"If it please you, my lord," she managed to whisper back.

Ned placed his hand behind her neck and pulled her face to his. "Yes, it does please me." He kissed her open smile, softly at first, but they could both feel their excitement growing. Catelyn dragged her hand down from his chest, over his ribs, and grasped his hip bone which, for some reason, had always sparked her lust for her husband. She felt his cock rising against her thigh and she pushed her weight against it, relishing the intake of his breath as she did so.

His hands trailed against her breast before he reached down to the back of her knee to hitch it over his hips and open her against him.

He reached between them, down to her sex and circled his fingers in her wetness. Her hand came up to his hair and he could feel her fingernails scratching against his scalp. She began to move her hips slowly against his and their kiss moved in rhythm with his hand, Catelyn groaning as he hit the ideal motion and speed.

She broke away from his lips, panting as her hip thrusts became more erratic. "Ned, please! Please!"

"What, Cat? Tell me what you want," Ned teased.

"What? You know, I - I need - "

"Tell me."

"Ned, inside me. I need to feel you inside me. Now."

He turned her on her back and thrust into her fully, quickly, without warning. She hissed as her body stretched to accommodate him, her hands moving to his biceps as he leaned over her. She squeezed his shoulders and wound her arms up until her fingers gripped his hair. He stilled for a moment to take the feeling in. Their eyes locked as he began to move inside her - slowly, building. He could sense her pressure coiling - gods, he loved her face as she seemed to slip from the moment and give herself over to the pleasure and the need for him completely. This was the face he had pictured every long night and every cold morning while he was away from her and aching in the absence. Her hair everywhere on the pillows, eyes half-mast, mouth open and panting his name. She threw a leg up to his shoulder and shivered as he swirled his tongue around her ankle bone and thrust deep within at the same time.

"Come for me, Cat. Look at me. Come for me."

She threw her arms above to brace against the headboard and arched her back. He moaned at the sight and the sounds of her, feeling her thighs and womb around him begin to pulse as she peaked, crying softly. He moved against her quickly and spent as well, groaning her name into her neck as he collapsed against her.

Catelyn felt like a deep burning inside her had finally been sated. She kissed the salty sweat on Ned's forehead, and held her husband as the tingling all over her body began to calm down.

Ned slipped from her and rolled softly to his side, throwing an arm across her stomach and a leg across her still quaking thighs.

"My lady..." he began.

"Yes, my lord?" she murmured.

Ned sighed and paused a moment. "I don't even know. I cannot think just yet. But I wanted to say...I am glad you are mine."

Catelyn's eyes threatened tears. Ned was never one for many words, let alone anything sentimental, for all they had been married nearly seventeen years. She would treasure this.

"As am I, my love. I am glad I am yours, and I am glad you are mine."


	6. Chapter 6

Four long months, he thought. Gods, he'd missed his wife. To be in bed with her again was bliss, even just to stroke her hair and feel her next to him, still humming from their lovemaking. He thought back to last night's passion, having her on the floor, and then the start to this morning...he hugged her naked body closer to him.

Remembering his actions during the dance in the Great Hall made Ned felt ashamed for being so juvenile. He knew his inner turmoil and subsequent behavior towards Cat wasn't just about his inability to dance and seeing Catelyn have such a good time with other men. He knew he had no reason to doubt her love for him nor did he think that any of his bannermen would ever try something untoward. If he was being honest with himself, his behavior had much more to do with the talks around the campfires he had heard while on their mission to the north lands.

Before he could think further on the matter, a knock at the door startled them both.

"Mother! Why aren't you up yet? Is Father in there with you?" Arya's voice pierced through the moment they had created in Catelyn's bedchambers.

"Maester said not to disturb you, and Robb and Sansa yelled at me to not come up here" at that, Catelyn and Ned raised an eyebrow at each other, "but we're all _so_ hungry and don't want to wait longer to eat! Mother!" the knocks and voice of Arya grew more insistent.

Catelyn raised her eyes to look at Ned. "Your daughter is knocking, ser."

" _My_ daughter?" he laughed.

"PLEASE! I am SO hungry!"

"When she's this hungry, and you're in my bedchambers doing things I do not feel like explaining, yes, she's _your_ daughter." Catelyn pushed herself up and stretched, sparing one last delicious look at her husband's naked form in her bed.

Ned laughed, raising one arm to go behind his head, and then scratching his chest and stomach absentmindedly with the other, as was his habit every morning. Cat felt a rush of love for him she couldn't quite define. "That's Tully curiosity in her, Cat. She's asked more questions in her short years than most Starks do in their entire lifetime."

Catelyn scoffed with a smile and stood all the way up. "Yes, Arya, I am up and dressing now. I will meet you at the table," she called toward the door. "Come, husband, duty calls," she said as she moved to the wash basin and reached for her robe. Ned watched her splash her face and wash between her legs, glancing up at him as she did so. She pulled on her small clothes, shift, and simple dress, and then quickly braided her hair. She turned back to the bed, where he was still watching her, still not moving. "Ned, what is it?" she asked, but he didn't answer her. She sat down next to where he lay, his face propped up on his elbow.

"Ned, my love, come, we have much to do and I'm sure your men need to see you - " Ned grabbed her hand suddenly and interrupted her.

"You are beautiful, Catelyn."

She smiled at him, caught off guard by this sudden admission. "Ned, gods....thank you, I don't know - "

"I do not tell you enough. But I think it every day. You grow more beautiful to me every day, my love," he said softly, reaching out to cup her cheek.

She blushed prettily, unable to meet his eyes. "Ned...I do not know what to say."

He pulled her gently to him for a soft kiss.

"MOTHER!"

Groaning, Catelyn pulled herself away. "Coming, Arya!" and she turned back to Ned. "Will I find you here again tonight, my love?"

"I look forward to it," Ned replied. They shared one last smile before she walked quickly out the door, closing it so Arya couldn't see in. Ned lay back against the pillows for a moment. There was much to do and much to think about today. He knew one thing - he loved his wife and thanked the gods for her everyday, and he intended to make sure that she knew, as well.


	7. Chapter 7

Ned paused at the door to the Great Hall to look in before entering. His family was seated, barely awaiting his arrival, as he noticed Robb had swiped a biscuit and was attempting to flirt with one of the serving girls. His men were trickling into the room, laughing loudly and calling for ale.

Ahhh.....breakfast. Hot, fresh, steaming, as much as he could eat of it. As he walked in and took his seat next to Catelyn and surveyed what looked like a veritable feast before him, Ned vowed to the old gods and the new to never take being home for granted again. She smiled to him as he lay a hand on her shoulder in greeting, but she kept speaking to Robb at her side, as he took to his plate like the direwolf of his house, quickly refilling it with another serving.

"Father! Are you going to eat _all_ the eggs?" little Bran's voice called, as Ned spooned more onto his plate.

"I might," he answered back, with a smile and ruffle of the little wolf pup's head. Bran smiled up at him in adoration. _When did he get so big,_ Ned wondered.

"You must be really hungry, Father, to eat all that," said Arya, even as she shoved a piece of quail pie in her mouth.

"As hungry as Mother? I don't know that she's eaten this much for breakfast in months," Sansa remarked. Catelyn and Ned stole a smile at each other. But they did not go unnoticed by the other guests in the Great Hall.

"Indeed, Lord Stark. We all noticed you left the banquet a little earlier than the rest of us..." the teasing voice of the GreatJon cut in from the lower end of the table. "You as well, Lady Stark. Where did the two of you head off to, eh? Had you stayed longer, eaten more, you might not be as hungry as you both seem now. Then again...you both looked _hungry_ for a different sort of - "

"My Lord Glover!" Catelyn quickly jumped in to interrupt the suggestive train of thought the GreatJon was headed on, before anyone else could catch on to his meaning. Ned, for his part, sat with his fork paused between plate and mouth, jaw askew, and vowing to challenge the GreatJon to a little "sword practice" later, to pay for that remark.

"Yes, Lady Stark?" Galbert Glover answered, clearly a little confused as to why he was being addressed by the lady of the castle during breakfast. In truth, Catelyn had not yet decided what she was going to say, desperate as she was to draw the attention of the table away from wondering exactly where to and why she and her husband had left the banquet early. Her imaginary question hung in the air...

"Ah....good morning, ser. I hope you find your meal...satisfactory," she offered in desperation.

"Um, yes, your lady. It is very hot and filling, delicious, especially after so long away from home," Lord Glover answered.

At that unintentioned innuendo, the GreatJon laughed so hard the entire hall turned to watch his face redden and his hands slap his legs. "HOT! And FILLING! De _licious_ , he says!!" the GreatJon gasped.

"Good gods," Ned muttered, sparing an eye at Catelyn, who turned red.

The GreatJon continued his laughter and sputtering for a few moments, as Ned fumed. Catelyn finally turned to the children. "Alright, my sweetlings, you are excused to your lessons. I will be around to check with you shortly. Be ready for a quiz from your father on all you have learned in his absence!"

Grateful for the distraction, Ned squeezed Cat's hand under the table and chuckled, before turning to address their small wolfpack. "Yes, and study well, for I will need you all to recite every king and queen, their house colors, banners, favourite foods," he drifted off as Bran and Rickon began to look truly concerned.

"He's only joking, Rickon. I doubt he knows them anyways," Arya smirked at her father.

"Oh, you doubt your lord father, Lady Arya?" Ned replied.

Arya stuck out her tongue.

Ned gasped in mock horror. "My Lady Catelyn, I am gone only four months, leaving this refined young lady in waiting in your tutelage, and I return to find a wildling!"

"I apologize, my lord," Catelyn replied, sighing an exaggerated sigh toward her husband as they both looked upon Arya in mock disapproval. "Perhaps it is best if we send her off to Beyond-the-Wall, where she may join her true kin."

Arya smirked at her parents, wise beyond her years as far as sense of humour was concerned. She stuck out her tongue before crying "You'll have to catch me first!" and then she took off running. Bran and Rickon shrieked in delight and took off after their sister.

Sansa rolled her eyes before bowing to her parents. "Mother, Father, she's _so_ terrible!" she lamented, before turning to join the others.

"Robb, I would ask you to stay with your father today. I believe you have some things to show him?" Catelyn took Robb's hand as he tried to swallow a proud smile.

"Indeed, Father. I would like to show you the castle, whenever you might need me," said Robb.

"Son. I look forward to it," Ned smiled at his firstborn. Catelyn felt full and warm with love, looking between them both.

"I will call to you when I'm ready, Robb. Off with you, and Jon. I will meet you at your lessons," Ned said.

Robb turned to Jon, who stood silently, a few paces behind him, seemingly unsure of how close or far he should be. Ned nodded to Jon, who smiled quickly, before Catelyn turned to notice.


	8. Chapter 8

As the boys walked off to their play swords, Ned turned his attention back to his wife.

"Robb has...things he has done that he is anxious to show you for your approval, Ned. We have both been anxious. He has worked hard while you were away, to make you proud. I have been very proud of him."

"I'm sure I will be proud of our son as well, my lady."

Cat sat still for a minute, not making eye contact. "Do you mean to take Jon with you, my lord?" she asked, just a hint of something he couldn't quite define in her voice.

"I...I assumed he would come, yes."

"I see."

Now those were two little words that after a decade and a half of marriage, Ned recognized as having a lot more meaning than they did on the surface. Oh, his Tully wife. "Does that trouble you, Cat?"

"It is no matter what may or may not trouble me, especially not concerning your bastard. Whatever my lord commands," she said in a tone that _clearly_ suggested it was of a matter to her. Catelyn turned back to her plate, took it in hand and stood to walk to the kitchens.

Ned felt like he could see the familial warmth of this morning fading into thin air as he walked her walk away from him, her chin held high. He sighed to himself, turning back to the Hall, and unfortunately noticed Lord Glover and the GreatJon silently watching him and Cat's small exchange, along with a few of their men.

The words he had heard around the campfire just a few weeks ago came rushing back, seeming to roar in his ears.

  

 

*             *             *             *            *             *

"All them speeches today after the battle. For all his talk of honor and justice, doing right by his people...sometimes it be a little hard to stomach, seeings as what he's done to the fair Lady Stark, isn't it, lads?"

The man's comment had stopped Ned in his tracks as he'd walked from his tent toward the forest to relieve himself. He didn't recognize the voice, and he surmised it must be one of the others' men. The soldiers gathered around the fire must be toward the end of their watch, and from the slurring of this speech and the looks of the upended bottles around the campfire, a bit in their cups.

He looked at the group, which didn't seem to notice him. Ned stayed very still in the shadows to hear what they might say next. He was the leader of this group, he needed to know their opinion of him, he reasoned. But as they continued talking, his heart was pounding hard as old doubts and anxieties threatened to rise to the surface of his mind to beg attention and action.

"Aye, the wife I got now - " 

" _Now_? Stop killing 'em with that stuff that comes out your cock there, Timb."

"Wot?! Don't talk to shame Amalia. Good wench, she was. And I can't help how big the child's wont to be when it's birthed! Come off it!"

There was a clash and thud, and then the man continued.

"Alright then, as I was a'saying, before being so rudely cut away by Ser Jealous Prick over here. Me new wife used to work in the kitchens at Winterfell like. Long years her family's been there. She told me once that when Lord Stark brought home that bastard, the Lady Stark never let his heartless arse see her cry, but the whole keep knew she walked them halls all night, cudn't sleep, crying all silent like to herself. They says they would see her stand outside the bastard's room, just full of a haunting pain. Like a ghost, she was."

"Aye, me own sister worked Winterfell, too. Says Lady Stark was so taken back by the bastard, she thought to bring another son to Lord Stark as soon as she's able, trying to get with child after child even before the Maester gave her leave to visit his cold chambers. My sister said the maid of Lady Stark saw a letter she'd wrote to her own sister, wondering why Lord Stark was so displeased with her. Thoughts he loved that bastard more, because he a'looks more like him, he does."

"Aye, Stark t'rough and t'rough," the men all agreed.

"I just never understood why 'e didn't leave the bastard wit'is mum. That's the decent thing to do. To come home, throw that in the Lady Catelyn's face-"

"Oh, you fancy yourself familiar enough to call her 'Catelyn,' do ye?" another voice teased.

"I'd imagine she'd fancy anything with a bit more feeling than that iceblock of a husband she's strapped to, now. _He's_ the cold fish in tat bed, I guarantees it. I bet all the gold Tywin Lannister holds that she wishes t'was Eddard died without notice in that war, not Brandon. Now that was a man with fire in his bones."

"And in his loins!" someone laughed. "Every woman he met, he bed!"

"Could be, but 'e would done the right thing and left the bastard somewhere else, once they was married and all. And maybe he'd have made the Lady'd laugh and smile as often as a lady so pretty should."

"D'ye know, I've heard her uncle, the Blackfish they call him, he wanted to ride to Winterfell and demand a duel with Lord Stark when Lady Stark wrote to Riverrun of what'd happened. And 'er brother, what'saname....something funnylike... he wanted confrontation as well. 'Family, Duty, Honor," thems the words for that Tully family. Seems they thought ol' Eddard wasn't quite up to the standards for their lovely lady."

"Oh, gods, you yap about worse than women. Quit the japes and the gossip, pass the wine. Let's have a song from Parrick!"

The men at the fire moved on from their speculation, but Ned returned to his tent, unable to sleep that night, their words winding a dangerous web in his mind. Catelyn...his own heart. She deserved her honor, and he had stolen it from her, not even a year into their marriage. How she had managed to rebuild it, or even why, he didn't know until now. If what the men around the fire were saying was true, she had gone so far as to put herself into danger to invite him to her bed and conceive children quickly for him, thinking that would help build a bridge between them in their young marriage. He wracked his brain, trying to think back to Sansa's birth, hoping he had acted as please as he knew he was in his redhaired daughter, the very image of the woman he thought most beautiful in the world. She knew he loved them all, didn't she? How proud he was of all their children, how proud he was of her?

 _Gods, Catelyn,_ he thought. _Do you not know, have you not guessed, how much it is I love you?_

 _  
_They must end this mission, and quickly. He must get home to his Lady Wife. He had questions he meant to ask her, and answers he meant to give her. But above all, he meant to love her in a way that she could have no doubt of his true feelings for her.

 

*             *             *             *            *             *

Ned's mind came back to the present, and he blinked quickly at the memory of the conversation from the campfire that had haunted him the remaining weeks in the North and then the long ride home. Yes, he needed to talk to Catelyn, and about a great number of things. But they might have to wait. First, he just needed to get to her.

"Cat!" he cried, louder than he intended, and she paused outside the door to the kitchens, and turned in alarm back to him. He never called her that in public.

"Lady Stark," he tried again, this time more in control. "It would please me to meet you in the solar. We must needs look over the ledgers from my absence."

Catelyn only nodded, and then continued to the kitchens.

*      *      *

Pacing the floor as if it would make time speed up, Ned realized he was being made to wait. _Oh, Catelyn,_ he thought with a wry smile. _The games you play._

Finally, the door opened and his lady stepped in.

"My lord," she said, all grace and formality and _gods, she is beautiful when she's angry at me_ , he thought. Ned bit back a smile.

"I thank you for your speed in attending to me, my lady," he said.

Catelyn was clearly caught off-guard, expecting to be chastised for exactly the opposite of speed. "I...yes...I came as quickly as I might. It was the turnips...the kitchen needed help to count them and I -"

"Cat," he took her hands in his and drew her to him. "I need not take Jon with us. You are right - Robb is to be Lord of Winterfell, and I should spend more time with him to teach him all there is to know. That is," his voice dropped to tease her, "if you've left anything unexplained in my absence."

Catelyn rolled her eyes, but smiled, recognizing the comment for what it was.

Ned continued in a more serious tone - "Indeed, you are half the lordship of this castle, if not more, my lady. I know he could learn it all from you if need be, and prove himself a wise lord under your guidance."

"Ned, I am sorry, I should not have spoken so - "

"My love, it is all right. I understand. I needs have these moments with our son. My father had them with Brandon, I must have them with Robb."

She looked up at her husband curiously. "And who did you have these moments with, my lord, that you have come to rule this castle and it's people so well?"

Ned regarded her silently. They both knew he had never been taught all he had needed to know when the rule of Winterfell was thrust upon him at the death of his father and brother. Ned had been preparing to help his brother, to be sure, but with quite a different idea of how his life were to turn out.

Ned sighed. "Well, we both know that is why the gods saw fit to send me a woman unlike any other, so that we might share the burdens and joys together. So that we might rule together."

Her heart swelled inside her chest and she could not bite back a smile. They had come such a long way in their years together. Catelyn drew herself up to her full height and kissed him softly once, twice, three times. "You are all that a man should be, Lord Stark. You honor me with your trust." 

He folded her in his arms to feel her closer against him as they kissed again.

And again.

He sighed against her lips, lips giving way to tongues, hands beginning to explore the planes of their bodies, each feeling the tension between them melting away. Despite their furious love-making last night and this morning, he found he was nowhere near exhausted of his wife's attentions. And it seemed she felt the same way. The four months apart had been difficult for them both, and they relished the physical contact.

Their mouths continued a slow dance, as his hand found its way up to her hair, and he pulled her head back to expose her neck, trailing kisses down from her mouth, across her jawline to her ear, to her collarbone, and back up to her ear.

Their kisses were escalating quickly toward something more, and then Catelyn moaned a most wanton moan, and Ned felt all his blood rush from his head to his cock.

He whispered hotly in her ear - "My Lady, I command you to lock the solar door. Now."

Ned could feel the fire in her eyes as she pulled away, reached behind her and deftly flipped the lock. They didn't speak as both moved toward each other and he  pulled them to the large solar table. He pulled her close to him again for a desperate kiss, and then broke off. Catelyn giggled as Ned took one strong arm away from her waist to swoop across and knock all the papers to the floor.

"Ned! All your messages! The maps! You will have to - "

"Duty be damned, I want my wife. Now," he growled.

He picked her up, turned, and sat her on the edge of the table, moving to unlace his breeches and tug them down to reveal his need. This would not be a slow, gentle time together, she realized. This would be a solid fuck.

She looked forward to it.

Cat pulled her dress up and barely managed to get her small clothes down to one ankle before he was at her neck again with hot, wet kisses, and teasing his cock against her entrance. She leaned back and looked up at him coyly. "Take me as you will, my lord."

Ned needed no further encouragement.

 

Minutes later, when they were both spent and limbs felt too heavy, they sank to the floor, arms still holding on to each other as best they could. On their backs underneath the solar table, Catelyn dragged her toes against his calves, her fingers trailed up and down his torso.

"Well, my lord..."

Ned turned to look at her, his heart still racing. "My lady?"

"The solar table....??" Her almost question hung in the air, puncutated by an arching eyebrow.

"Turnips...??" He returned.

They both burst into laughter.

When their humor quieted down, Ned spoke as thoughtfully as he could manage, under the circumstances. "I am not sure why, my love, but I have always wanted you here."

"Well," Catelyn blushed. "I am not sure I will be able to sit at meetings here in this room with a straight look on my face for quite some time, my lord," she giggled at him and he felt the words coming out before he could stop them.

"Cat, I love you."

"Ned."

She stilled. All these years together, all the doubts she had ever had, the anger she could never quite conquer, the lives they had created together - he had never exactly said those words. Neither had she, directly. It had been enough to know they held each other in affection above all others - to know they were a true marriage and partnership.

Long ago, she had told herself she didn't need the songs and fairy tales, the poems that had seemed so important to her in her youth. But when it came to this moment, she thought she had never heard anything so honest and beautiful in her life.

"I love you, Ned," she managed. "I will always love you."

 

*      *      *

They shared a few moments, holding each other, feeling this new shift in their relationship, before relunctantly rising to straighten themselves and get back to their "damned duty." Kissing goodbye inside the door before walking out and going their seperate ways, Ned had been tempted to throw the lock again and have her another time, maybe this time in his grand chair...but perhaps she had sensed it and so she had put her hands to his chest to push him away.

"I would never wish you to leave for so long again, my lord, but it has been such a lovely homecoming." Catelyn smiled up at him. "I will see you at dinner, my love."

"And after, in your bedchambers, you have not forgotten?"

"Ned! You are a wolf, indeed." With that, one last kiss, and they parted ways for the morning. He was already counting the hours until the night.

 *      *      *

Winterfell had stayed in excellent order in his absence. Catelyn had seen to most of Ned's normal duties, as was expected. Even when he was at home, she already did quite a bit as they shared the burden of Winterfell together, but in his long absence, she'd also let Robb handle a lot of the responsibility. Ned's heart swelled with pride as he "let" Robb walk him through the grounds, checking in on the food supplies, the stables, and speaking to the various men and families kept within the walls. Robb seemed to walk a little straighter and his voice seemed a little deeper, words weighed with import, as he updated his lord father on the happenings at Winterfell during his absence.

After announcing he was well pleased with the state of affairs at the castle proper, father and son, along with a few of Ned's closest men, saddled up to ride out to the surrounding houses and closest village to see that all was well. He stopped at many a small hut to inquire after the tenants. It seemed all was well, and Ned was satisfied with his visits, but a Stark is always aware that Winter is coming.

It was this part of lordship that Eddard truly enjoyed - hosting the banquets, hearing complaints and settling feuds...he always wished those duties could be delegated to someone else that he was sure would be wiser and make better decisions.

What Ned liked was to see the people working the land, families growing, villages prospering. To be on a horse, playfully racing Robb to the next field, laughing with his men, giving chase to a fox the dogs spotted. It felt good to not have to look over his shoulder for a potential threat. It felt good to be in his own lands again. It wasn't often he let himself truly enjoy the responsibility of being Lord Stark, but in truth, as he looked around him.....he couldn't think of a more beautiful place on earth.

As they rode back towards the castle, Robb grinning and speeding past Ned in a mock challenge, Ned began to chuckle to himself. This was truly a blessed life.

"I should stop and give thanks to the gods before going in to dinner," he thought, meaning to make for his spot against the tree. But as he was calling to Robb to slow down, he noticed a rider approaching them, dust kicking at the horse's heels, clearly moving with haste towards his small party.

Alarmed, Ned kicked to his own mount, urging him towards the rider. As he approached, Ned saw the look of intensity upon his man Tynden's face, and his heart dropped in his chest.

"Tynden! What is it?"

"My lord..." he didn't seem to know how to begin, looking to Robb and the others helplessly.

"Speak, boy!" Ned called.

"It's the Lady Stark, my lord. She's taken a fall from her horse, and the Maester is not sure what to do - "

Ned didn't hear anything else the boy had to say. He was already racing his horse towards home.


	9. Chapter 9

His horse had not yet come to a stop before Ned leapt to the ground in the courtyard. It was silent, eerily silent, and he was vaguely aware of faces and people standing there, looking at what appeared to be a sort of hastily constructed litter. It was stained a dark red. Could that be blood? He had not expected blood. She was thrown from her horse, but he knew Cat to be a skilled rider. Gods, what had happened.

He had to get to her. 

"Where is Lady Stark?" he said to no one in particular. "The Lady Catelyn, where is she?" The people looked at each other, hoping someone else would say something.

"Gods, speak to me! Where is my wife?!" Ned felt his voice getting louder and more aggravated, even as he grabbed a woman standing near him and it took all his self-control not to shake her.

"My-my lord, I believe she-she has taken a fall-"

"I KNOW that." Ned willed himself to be more calm. "Where is she now?" 

"I believe the Maester is with her in her bedchambers, my lord."

"I thank you," Ned replied and he began running into halls, taking the stairs two, three at a time, winding his way up and finally skid to a sudden stop at Cat's door.

The children were huddled against the dark wooden entrance. Rickon sat in Sansa's lap, Arya hugged her knees and rocked back and forth, eyes unfocused at something in the distance. Bran was leaning his head against Jon's leg, who stood with his back to the wall, focusing himself on listening through the doors.

They all looked up when he approached, and he could see tear streaks on their faces, save Jon. Bran bolted from his position toward Ned's body, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face against Ned's stomach.

"Father! Father." he cried as Ned held him and stroked his hair.

"Children. What has happened?" he asked very gently, looking to Jon to speak for the group, hoping he would tell him quickly.

Jon walked a few steps toward him.

"Lady Stark was in an accident, Father, and it was not anyone's fault," Jon said pointedly, in a tone Ned couldn't understand, but he noticed Arya and Sansa looked at each other and began crying harder.

"Go on," Ned nodded.

Jon continued, "She wanted to go to the woman who lives just outside the walls, who always has lemons and oranges and - "

"I know the house," Ned interrupted.

"Well, I guess it was to get something to make, for you, actually," Ned raised his eyebrows, "as a surprise, so she waited until you were gone. But something had...slowed her here, so she was in a hurry to get back before you returned. She rode off - "

"Lady Stark rode off somewhere alone outside our walls?" Ned interrupted.

"No, Maester was with her and Ser Dront and Kurt and I think another man. But they were riding quickly, and a fox ran in front of their party, right in front of her horse. It spooked the animal, it bolted quickly, and she was thrown. That is all we were told when they carried her into the walls."

"Father..." Arya whispered. "Father, Mother is going to die. It is all my fault."

Ned was taken aback by what she said, but he simply moved Bran out of his arms and knelt in front of Arya. "Your mother is not going to die. I will not let her, do not worry so, daughter." His words seemed to have no effect on the child. She continued rocking. An arrow of worry shot through Ned, but he could not wait outside the door any longer. He had to get to Cat.

"Children, I will go see to your Mother. I am sure she is going to be fine," as he spoke in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, he could hear footsteps rapidly approaching. 

"Father!" Robb called as he came up from behind. "Oh gods! What's happened? Your faces!"

"Robb!" Ned rebuked him. As a father, he understood not to react too openly in front of his children - he needed to guide them, calm them, assure them. But Robb reacted as an older brother and was unable to contain himself.

Robb could not hold back his emotions, though, seeing his siblings in such distress. "Sansa! What happened?" Robb knelt in front of her.

"Oh Robb," she was weeping openly now, startled by Robb's reaction. "I saw her, I saw the blood, I'm so afraid. She will die! And it is all our fault!"

At those words, Ned felt his body go cold. A throw from a horse was one thing. Why _was_ she bleeding so much? Why did Arya and Sansa seem to think it was their fault? And that she was going to - He felt deeply for his children, but this was taking too long. He would check in on Cat, and be back in a short time to hold them and calm their fears.

"Robb, stay with your brothers and sisters. Sansa, all will be well. Let me pass, sweetheart, I will return shortly. I must see your mother," and he scooted past Sansa, who was now being held by Robb.

Ned gently opened the door against his childrens' backs, and walked in.

 

 

He had seen Catelyn in sickness and in childbirth, but nothing could have possibly prepared him to see her like this.

The bedcovers were staining with blood that seemed to come from several places at once. Her arm was twisted at an unnatural angle at her side, her dress was dirty and torn and also blood-soaked. Her hair was wet and dark with blood, and her skin impossibly pale. 

But worse - her body was shaking violently, her eyes rolling back in her head, unseeing.

 _Oh gods_ , he thought. _She is dying._ The floor seemed to sway beneath him.

Cat's maids and a few men were standing to the side, but Maester Luwin was holding her down with an arm across her chest, trying to speak to Catelyn, "My lady, my lady, can you hear me? My lady, do not harm yourself further!"

Ned swept the old man to the side and grabbed Catelyn at her arm, cupping her cheek. "Cat! Cat! Look at me! Cat, my love, look at me! What has happened?"

Maester Luwin recovered from his lord's abrupt shove and knelt at the edge of the bed, holding on to Lady Stark's shaking feet. "Lord Stark, she is gravely injured. I have seen this before, when the head has experienced great trauma - we mustn't let her choke on her tongue. We must get through this episode, and then I will explain what has transpired. Try to talk to her, Lord Stark. Calm her, draw her head to look to the side."

Gods, help me, help me! Ned thought. He realized he was holding Cat's arm too tight, but as he loosened his grip on her sleeve, his hands felt slick with blood and he gasped. He felt himself beginning to breathe too quickly and his head swim. He gulped a breath of air and looked into Cat's eyes, praying for them to roll back towards him, for her shaking to stop. She felt so cold, and there was so much blood...her life was slipping out of her. 

Minutes passed. Behind him he heard the Maester calling for hot water, linens, more rags, honey, and candles. Catelyn's shakes subsided, but her face remained slack, her eyes unopened.

"Catelyn, my love," he drew a deep breath. "Please, _please_ Cat, open your eyes, look at me. Try to calm your spirit, love. Rest, Cat. I will hold you."

Her breaths were shallow, and he could barely detect the rise and fall of her chest. With her eyelids half open, he could see the whites of her beautiful, perfect blue eyes and he wished desperately she would open them and look at him fully.

He felt the maester move beside him with one of Cat's maids. They held a wash basin and rags and were trying to dab at the blood on her face.

"Why is there so much blood?" Ned asked tersely.

"Actually, I am hopeful that it is just due to a large number of superficial wounds and scratches, my lord. You see - "

"Hopeful?! What is this? Why would there be superficial wounds and scratches? Why so many to cause so much blood? The blood from her head - " Ned interrupted impatiently. The maester understood his distress, and tried to answer calmly.

"Lord Stark, Lady Catelyn is in danger. I am not sure what you have heard, so I will summarize as efficiently as I can. We were on horseback, and her horse was startled by a fox. The horse was inexplicably spooked and reared immediately. Lady Stark is a very good rider, as you know, but this action was very unexpected. When her horse reared, Lady Stark fell backwards, but her foot caught in the stirrup. I'm afraid she was dragged for quite a few paces before her foot was wrenched free. She was screaming for the horse to stop, but it would not. She....hit some rocks, I am afraid. Her head may have hit the ground or rocks particularly hard. Her arm is surely broken." 

Ned shuddered at the Maester's description, and yet he knew he couldn't possibly understand the pain that Catelyn must have been going through. He asked the Maester, "and the shaking?"

"Could be just shock from the accident and loss of blood, or - and we hope and pray against this with all our hearts - something more serious."

Ned stilled. "What do you mean."

"I am afraid we will not have many answers for a while my lord. Hope and pray and hold her for now. We will needs clean and dress the wounds, and attend to her arm while she no longer shakes. The shaking may return at any moment. I will disinfect the wounds, this may cause her pain, but I do not know if she is conscious. If you will step outside, her maids can help me to undress her - "

"I will not leave my wife."

"My lord, we must undress her and see to her wounds."

"Yes, we must."

"My lord - I am not sure that is wise. We do not know the extent of her injuries and what we might see when we remove her gown. It could be very painful for you -"

"Painful for _me?_ Maester _,_ I will not leave her. Will you defy me in this? I will  _not_ leave her. Cut away her dress, examine her wounds, clean her, bind her, all that you can and you must and you  _will_ save her, but I will not leave her side. Do you understand?"

Ned did not lift his gaze from his wife's face as he spoke these words. His tone brokered no room for disagreement. In truth, Maester Luwin did not know why he thought Lord Stark would leave the room - he had been there for each birth of his children, save Robb, holding Cat and watching the entire bloody process every time. Maester knew his lord and lady shared an uncanny affection and respect for each other unlike any other couple he had known in their position. And having known Lord Stark as a boy, and all that he had been through as an adolescent and adult, and the brave way he had faced it all....

Maester Luwin turned to the men standing in the room, stains of blood on their clothes from carrying Lady Catelyn, and their faces white as winter.

"You must leave. Tell no one what is happening here. Simply ask the people of Winterfell to pray for Lady Stark. Ladies, we will need to cut off her dress. Find the warmest, most comfortable clothing she owns. We need to bathe her, set her arm, and get her warm again. Jessa - run to the kitchen and tell them we will need constant supplies of hot water. Tell the stable boys we will need more wood. There must be a fire at all times. Come, we must all work quickly."

Many things began to happen around him, but Ned paid no attention. All of this focus was on the face that had kept his heart beating and his hope an alive, actual thing for the last sixteen years. _She must not die, she must not die. Cat - you must not die,_ he thought over and over. 

Jessa and Rynnie sponged away the blood from the cuts on her knees, ankles, and face. The visible wounds were treated and wrapped in linen. Her maids decided to cut her dress from her - the blood and dirt made it impossible to restore - and they dressed her in a warm shift and nightgown. But her arm was twisted so that they simply cut off the sleeve and opened the side of the gown to move her into it, leaving the arm out for Maester to set. Rynnie quickly stiched part of the side together, obviously a little scandalized and embarrassed to be so near a naked Lady Catelyn while her husband sat, still as stone, watching her movements to be sure she did not cause undue discomfort to his wife.

As they worked to dress her, Ned spared a look at her torso, trying not react too strongly. Her body was beginning to bruise in a few places, and she suffered some wide gashes on her arms, and one large one across her thigh. But the maester murmured as he worked, saying that the blood flow was beginning to slow, and they were not dangerous wounds. To slip her arm through the sleeve was the only time Ned let go of her hand. Maester Luwin worked to set her arm in a brace against her side, and Jessa began to wet her hair to clean out the blood, checking her scalp for any major injury, as the maester instructed her.

"Maester," she said, "I can find only a few scratches here on her head, there is nothing too large, and they are slowing their bleeding. Her poor ear is bleeding and her forehead, but I think that is all. I shall dry and braid her hair for her."

"Thank you, Jessa," the maester replied. "Lord Stark - that is good news. No major open wounds on her head. Thank the gods."

Ned could not feel thankful yet. Her hand was cold in his, and her eyes did not yet open. The violent shaking had not returned, but her body still trembled. Laying in her bed, with freshly changed sheets, wrapped in her warmest nightgown, hair in a simple braid...with the fire roaring in the background, all Ned could think was that it was a cold winter night, and she would open her eyes in a moment, begging him to slip into bed with her to warm her up, as she had done on thousands of cold nights. He could imagine how she would curl her body around his as he laughed, how she would bury her toes under his legs, nuzzle her face against his neck. Would that she would do that now.

"She is still so cold..." heard himself whisper, to no one in particular.

He heard the maester address the maids and they walked out the door. It was just him and the old man now, who sat at the end of the bed, slowly rubbing Catelyn's feet, as if to warm them. He sighed deeply, knowing a painful conversation was about to come.

"Lady Catelyn has lost a lot of blood, my lord. The body is a miraculous thing, capable of restoring itself. She is young and healthy, we can have some confidence in that. I must tell you, my lord, I am worried about her head. She must wake up before we know...but you should prepare yourself, my lord."

"Prepare myself?"

"Yes, and the children."

"....prepare for what?"

The maester sighed and gathered his words carefully.

"My lord...I know you, and I know her, and neither of you deal with lies. I will be honest with you. Lady Catelyn may not wake up."

Ned's heart stopped beating. He stopped breathing. "Maester. No. Do not tell me this. That is not...she must....I cannot..."

"Lord Stark - I tell you that as the worst possible outcome. As I said earlier, she is young and healthy. I am confident her body will recover. But when people sustain trauma to the head as she has, we must steel ourselves for every possibility. And in truth, she may not wake up. Or it will take some time. But, you should know, that in my studies I have read documents that suggest injuries to the head can result in blindness, memory loss, paralysis, alterations in personality or temperment."

 _Oh gods,_ thought Ned. Any of those things would be terrible to live with, but he just needed her to live. _Wake up, Cat,_ he pleaded. _Gods - wake her!_

 _  
_"But, we pray for complete recovery, of course. And I will write to other maesters for any suggestions they may offer. All that can be done to ease her pain and help aid her will be done, my lord."

Ned simply nodded in acknowledgement of the man's words. He had none of his own yet.

"Would you like me to send the children in?"

Oh gods, the children! He hadn't thought of them in hours as they had worked with Catelyn. Could he face them now? Should they see her like this? What exactly should he tell them? False hope is a terrible thing, but was no hope worse? Suddenly he remembered that Sansa and Arya both had seemed to think that Cat's fall was their fault...he could not understand and needed to ask them about that.

 _Oh Cat, I need you,_ he thought desperately. Their marriage was such a partnership that his first instinct was to ask her what to do with the children, what to say to them, how to steel himself. But she lay there, eyes unopened, looking so beautiful yet so cold and lifeless.

"Perhaps I should tell them a little of what has happened, and then you can see to them in a few minutes, my lord?"

"Yes...yes that would be wise. I must gather my thoughts. Do not tell them too much, only that she is certainly not going to die, and that we must pray. I will come to them in a moment."

"Yes, my lord," and the maester walked out the door.

Ned sat, one hand holding Cat's, his other resting on her leg. When he heard the door shut, he felt something inside him breaking down, just a little, and a choking feeling in his chest. No, he could not feel all this all at once right now. He would need to see the children in a moment. He swallowed against the unwanted fears and emotions that threatening to spill out, and looked down at Cat.

"Cat. You must be strong. You must wake up. I cannot do any of this, I cannot do anything without you, my love." He wanted to gather her up to him, but she was wrapped in so many bandages and her broken arm...he felt helpless and far from her. He gently placed his hands on her cheeks and pulled himself close to her face, kissing her eyelids and whispering. "Catelyn, my love, my only love. You are so strong, so brave. I will be strong, too. I will try to be strong for you. We have so much to live for, so much I want to tell you, please.....wake up, Cat. Wake up."

She breathed deeply and shifted - Ned's heart leapt - but she did not wake. Ned felt tears slip out of his eyes, and he hastily wiped them away. He must be stronger and braver than he had ever been. For Cat and their children and the life they still needed to have together.

 _Gods, help me._ He stood up slowly and walked to the door to speak with his children.


	10. Chapter 10

Ned opened the door slowly, gathering his words, willing himself to say the right things. He hated to leave Cat for even a second, but he knew he must address the children and ease their fears.

The five of them sat together against the wall that faced Cat's bedchamber. Maester Luwin was still there with them, and someone had brought up a tray of water, warm milk, meats and breads from the kitchens. It sat to the side, untouched. Ned noticed Jon had left the group, and he silently thanked the gods. He was very thankful that Jon had been with the other children during the immediate action after the accident, while he and Robb had been riding back from their village visits, but he wasn't sure what words he would have used to ask Jon to leave for a moment while the children came to see Cat. Ned knew Cat would have not appreciated Jon's presence in her room under any circumstances, and even as she lay completely unconscious, Ned would not tempt fate to unsettle her spirit at rest.

For a moment, father and children just looked at each other, unsure of what to say. Ned knew he must speak first, and that these words would be very important.

"I am sorry I have been away for so long. I wanted to make sure your mother was as comfortable as could be, and settled in with a nice fire and all her favorite furs. You know how she loves to be so warm in her rooms." A few of them offered a tiny smile at that. "She is doing well, children. She has had a bad fall, and needs to rest for a long time, but we have every reason to think she will wake up soon and all will be well."

"Wake up? You mean she is resting now, or that she has had milk of the poppy, or - " Robb asked.

"We have given her some milk of the poppy, to ease her comfort. She has also hit her head, and sometimes when the head is injured, it is hard for a person to wake up for a while. Her body needs to rest and heal itself. Can you imagine how you feel, when you fall and hurt yourself, or when you are very sick? And how you want to stay in your bed until you feel better?" The children nodded and looked seriously at Ned. "Well, that's what it is like for your mother right now."

"When I feel ill, all I want is Mother," Rickon sniffled into his sleeve.

Ned had to smile. "I know, son. We must all be very brave and strong for her, and pray to the old gods and the new that she will get better soon. But I know your mother - she loves you all too much to take very long in recovering herself. She will feel better soon."

"Truly, Father?" young Rickon looked up with his big eyes filled with tears and the smallest glimmer of hope.

"Yes, Rickon. Come here," and Ned knelt and opened his arms to take in his youngest son, who tried very hard to hold back his tears.

Ned looked at his other children. Bran was lifting a fragile smile to Maester Luwin, happy to hear a confirmation of sorts of what the maester had told the children before Ned had emerged from the room. Robb nodded stoically at his father, seeming to know that there were many things left unsaid in Ned's brief description. Arya and Sansa both had stopped crying, but their eyes were puffy from the hours of tears. They looked unconvinced at their father's news, and Ned remembered suddenly that they had said strange things when he had first come upon them, something about Cat's fall being their fault...he pushed that to the back of his mind, coming to the present as he heard Bran asking to see Catelyn.

"Father, please? We won't be loud at all, I won't even talk. I swear it. I just want to see Mother and hold her hand for a bit. We won't even talk, right, Rickon?" Rickon nodded eagerly, "Yes, Father, I swear it, too."

"Of course. Would you like that, girls?" Sansa and Arya looked at each other and nodded slowly. _What's gotten into them?_ Ned wondered. He would have to ask them in a few minutes. 

They all stood and Ned pushed the door open to lead them in, turning to Maester Luwin as he did so, to ask a question he immediately forgot, because all of a sudden the girls started screaming.

"MOTHER! MOTHER! MOTHER!"

Ned whipped his head around and saw Catelyn seizing on the bed, blood soaking through on her arms where she must have ripped open the stitches.

"CAT!" he bellowed, dropping Rickon's and Bran's hands and running to her side. "Catelyn! Cat?! Gods, what is happening?"

The Maester took quick control of the situation - "Quickly, my lord, hold down her arms. Robb, can you gently steady her head? I have her feet. This is not unexpected, do not think this is a terrible danger. I believe it is just the shock leaving her body, my lord." Ned was grateful for Maester Luwin's direction as he began to silently berate himself. _Damn, why did I leave her, even for a moment? Why did I ever leave her side? I will never forgive myself if - no, I cannot think it. I cannot even think it. Steady, Ned. Focus so that you may help her. Oh, Cat, my love, please, please..._

"Please, _please_ , Cat, my love, calm yourself! Gods, what can I do? Catelyn, can you hear me?" Ned suddenly realized he was speaking out loud. There was no time to be embarrassed in front of his own children, however. Robb looked like he might cry at any moment, but he was cradling Cat's head in his hands and whispering pleas of his own to his mother.

The three men at the bed held Cat down gently for a time until her shaking began to slow. Ned let go of a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, and heard the Maester calling to the other children, sending Bran to find Jessa and Cat's other maids, and Rickon for more water and fire. Forcing himself to look away from Cat for a moment, he spared a glance over his shoulder and watched the boys leave for what were probably invented tasks to get them out of the room and away from the sight. Sansa was crumpled on the floor, sobbing "Mother! Mother!" while Arya stood stock still, watching the commotion with her wide Stark eyes.

Cat's arms and hands still felt cold to Ned, but beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and upper lip. The shaking slowed and slowed until it finally stopped. He reached up to wipe her brow and cup her cheek. Would that she would turn her face and kiss his palm, as she always did. Would that she would open her eyes and look up at him. His heart felt heavy in his chest. He turned back to his girls.

"Daughters, it will be all right. I promise you. Your mother will be all right. See? She has stopped shaking. She is calming down. Sansa - you must stop crying so loudly. You must. That will not help. Arya, come here, daughter. Help me hold her hand. Will you whisper to your mother? Let her know you are here? I think that will give her strength. Sansa, calm yourself and you can come, too."

Arya slowly approached the bed, standing still a few feet away. Catelyn's body had stopped shaking, but her eyes were still rolled back and her mouth seemed to open and close at nothing.

"There, love, there. I am here. Stay calm, Cat. Please, Cat." Ned whispered soothing words to his wife, noticing Robb quickly wipe away a few tears that threatened to fall on Cat's forehead.

Cat's maids came running up the stairs. "My lady! Has she woken?" Jessa cried.

The maester answered her, "No, she's just had a shaking spell. I believe she's reopened a few of the stitches, but that will be fine. Would you redress just the one on the arm, and I will tend to the leg wound? I think a little milk of the poppy would be a good thing."

Ned leaned back a fraction of an inch to allow Jessa to work over Catelyn. She had indeed opened the stitches, but it was not as bad as he'd feared, just bleeding more than he would like. He held on to Cat's hand, stroking her long fingers, willing her to wake up. The maester moved with a deft hand on her leg wound, and pronounced it wrapped and fine. An aftershock rippled through her body, and a soft moan escaped her lips, but she did not wake.

Ned lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it as he fought back all that threatened to escape: He wanted to yell. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to crush her to him and caress and kiss life back into her. What curse was this that would attack his wife so? He would find that fox and kill it. He would kill the horse. He would - 

"Mother...I'm so sorry. Please, Mother." Ned stopped and turned to hear his youngest daughters urgent whispers. _Sorry? Why was Arya whispering she was sorry?_

"Please forgive us. We didn't mean it. You must get better because I am so sorry Mother." Arya crept closer, kneeling now next to her, reaching one hand out, but she seemed unsure of where to place it. She dragged a finger along Catelyn's shoulder. "Please, Mother. Do not leave us." Then she stood quickly and ran out of the room. As Ned turned to watch her go, he noticed Bran and Rickon had slipped back into the room, and Sansa held them close to her and they watched him solemnly. _Gods, help me know what to do,_ he prayed. His world felt like it was unraveling faster than he could track it.

 

Several minutes passed, or hours, or perhaps more, Ned could not tell, but he noticed suddenly that the sun was gone outside. Catelyn finally seemed completely calm. Maester had replaced all the furs that had been thrown from her body and bed during the shaking, and Robb stayed at the head of the bed, staring at her eyes as if he could silently summon them to open.

The Maester came towards the head of the bed with rags and a bowl. He slowly placed the milk of the poppy rag on her lips, and they watched the liquid ooze into her mouth, waiting for her reflex to kick in and swallow it. "My lord...she may wake tomorrow morning, or she may not wake for a few days. We cannot be certain. But she will be too weak to eat when she does wake. We will want to get honey milk, as well. I can brew a special meat tea, too, and we can feed her in this way while she sleeps. She has lost so much blood, but this will help." Ned nodded. He had seen this treatment before during the wars, helping men to recover when they had sustained a bad injury.

"Will you show me how to do it?" Sansa suddenly appeared at the bed. "Could I help?"

"Sansa, I fear you are too young - " the Maester began. 

Ned interrupted, "She may help. Sansa is very responsible. Show her how to do it as you show me." Something told Ned that the more he involved the children, the easier this would be for them. Maybe remembering his own mother's death, being kept away from her, being told nothing but hearing the screams echoing through the castle and feeling so helpless...he would run to the godswood and pray. The prayers were not answered. He never saw his mother again. In truth, he felt as though he never saw his father again, either. Everything about the man that was his father changed after those few days. Ned would not do that to his own children.

"Alright, my lord," the Maester acquiesed. Sansa offered her father a small smile, and they then both paid close attention as the Maester showed them how to dip the rag into the mixture, and place it just so it dripped against Catelyn's lips. Robb watched intently as well. Ned looked back to see Bran asleep sitting up against the wall, Rickon laying with his head in Bran's lap. Someone had drapped a fur over their shoulders. _Arya..._ he thought. Robb must have followed his look and guess his train of thought.

"Would you like me to look for her?" Robb asked. Ned nodded and Robb got up slowly, careful not to disturb Catelyn, and walk out the door in search of his sister. Sansa took his place, sitting next to her mother's head, gently touching her hair, and looking much older than her 14 years. Maester Luwin excused himself to write letters to send with ravens off to fellow maesters.

Robb returned shortly, hesistating a moment before telling Ned where he'd found Arya. "She's with Jon, Father. I was not sure if you would want him here, so I simply asked her to come up if she feels better."

"Hmm. He is comforting her?"

"Yes, Father. They get on well."

"I know. Thank you."

"What can I do, Father? Do you need something to eat or drink for yourself? Do we need more wood? Please let me help, let me know what to do."

 _I wish that I knew, Robb._ "Could you carry Bran and Robb to their beds? And you should get some sleep yourself, Robb, Sansa. I will stay here with your mother."

"Are you sure, Father?" Sansa asked. "Isn't there something I can do?"

"No, sweetheart. Perhaps you could check in on your sister, though." Sansa looked down and blushed at that, though Ned wasn't sure why. "Come up in the morning and break your fast with me, if you don't see your mother and me down in the Great Hall, all right? There is nothing either of you can do but pray to our gods and your mother's gods, be strong for your brothers and sisters."

"Yes, Father." Sansa reached her arms around Ned's neck and stifled another cry. Robb simply walked over to his sleeping brothers, gently toeing Bran awake and easily lifting Rickon to his shoulders to take to bed.

 

After his children had left, the candles burned low. Once, Ned got up to add more logs to the fire. He was always too hot in Catelyn's rooms, but her skin still felt cold to him, her face too pale, and he cared not what he felt if it might help her. He noticed her maid had nodded off to sleep in the chair where she sat in the back of the room.

With no other eyes to see him, Ned let his shoulders fall and his body leaned over until he fell to his knees next to Cat's bed, his forehead coming to rest on her hand. A great, choking sob escaped him, but could he let himself feel it all yet? Or would that make it too real? What was happening to Catelyn? Why had the gods willed this? His head was reeling, his heart ached for Cat's pain...and the children! Gods, how were they taking all of this? To have seen their mother so beside herself in pain...had he done the right thing? Was he being a good father?

He heard the door open behind him and looked to see Arya slowly walk in. He was grateful to be able to push his own pain away for the moment.

"Daughter. Come here," he reached a hand to her and waited for her to draw close to him before wrapping his arm around her waist. He felt her hesistate, and then throw her arms around his neck, where he began to feel warm, wet tears pooling against his shoulder. 

"Arya, tell me."

"It's my fault, Father. It's all my fault. I'm so scared Mother will die and I'm so sorry."

"Come, now, your mother was on her house, miles away from you and the castle. This is not anyone's fault, Arya. The gods have willed something and we must be strong to see it through."

"No, Father, you're wrong. It _is_ my fault!" Suddenly her confession came out in a rush she seemed unable to control - "Mother was in a hurry, because she was trying to return before you got back. But the reason she had to hurry was because I had yelled at Septa Mordane and run from my lessons, and Sansa came to find me, and we got into a fight. I said mean things to her about her hair and I called her a stupid girl, and then I hid. Sansa went crying to Mother and then she had to come find me and I got in trouble but she said she would deal with me later because she had to hurry off to get the first fruits for you."

 _First fruits?_ Ned thought. _Gods - that's what she was going to do with the old woman. Had it really been another year? It had passed so quickly. It had been so much more than he could have hoped for since that day in the sept at Riverrun...oh, Cat, you must wake up._

"...so you see, Father, it is all my fault. I made her hurry and made her worry and now she won't wake up and I can never tell her that I am sorry!"

"Oh, Arya..." Ned desperately wished for the right words to say.

"I will do anything, I will promise the gods anything. I will be a lady like she wants, I will let her brush my hair like Sansa, and I won't fight with Sansa anymore, I promise. Here, I will go to the godswood right now - "

"No, Arya. You do not need to go make promises to the gods. Your mother will wake up because we need her and we love her, and we will be strong for her. And despite what you say, and I understand why you might feel like this is your fault, it simply is not. Your mother was off to do something very special for me, so should I say that this is my fault?"

"Well, no..."

"Exactly. It was truly an accident. There is no one to blame except the fox, really. Maybe the horse. If we find the fox, I will have a nice pie made out of it, and you and I can eat it together." Arya smiled at that. "Maybe make some nice girl-thing with the fur for your sister Sansa." Arya grinned. "But it doesn't help for us to blame ourselves, does it? We just needs be brave, which I know you are." 

Arya pulled away from his embrace to wipe her tears and snot with the back of her sleeve. "But Father, if it would help, I will promise the gods to be more ladylike, just like Mother and Sansa. I know she wishes I was more like her."

Ned pulled her in to kiss her forehead. What could he say to make her understand? Cat was always better at talking with the children. He took a deep breath and tried to think of what she could say.

"You needn't change a thing about yourself, Arya. Your mother and I love you just the way you are. Sansa might favor your mother in a lot of ways; they both have far too much hair and dance better than the rest of our family combined," Arya grinned again. "But you're a lot like your mother, too. You do remind me of my sister, Lyanna, always chasing after us boys and playing with swords when she thought no one was looking. But there's a lot of your mother in you. The way you love so fiercely, your sense of honor and what's right. You are both quite funny. She and I love that about you. You don't need to braid your hair or sing or stitch as pretty as Sansa does. Stitching never made anyone laugh, after all." Arya ducked her head and leaned back into Ned's arms.

"Father, why did Mother want to give you first fruits?"

"In the north, the old tradition for a wedding anniversary was to bake a special pie with the first fruits of the closest harvest to your wedding day. In about three days time, your mother and I will have been married for seventeen years. But I don't know how she found out about that old custom, I've certainly never told her. Perhaps Old Nan did. I guess she meant to make me a cake."

"Oh, that would have been lovely. Mother is so thoughtful."

"Mmhmm. She is."

"You're quite lucky."

Ned chuckled. "Indeed, I am. Now, do you feel better? You understand this is not your fault?"

"Yes, Father."

"Good. And while neither your mother nor I would mind you keeping that promise about fighting less with your sister," at that, Arya looked down at her toes, "you must know that you need not change anything about yourself. We will just pray to our gods and wait patiently. Now I think you must go off to your bedchambers. It is quite late."

"But why do I have to go alone? No one else did."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they're just outside the door."

Ned shook his head. "Arya, what are you inventing?"

"Come and see, Father," and she took his hand, leading him reluctantly to the doorway. She opened it, and he saw them there in the hallway across from Cat's door - Robb, Sansa, Bran and Rickon, piled on a pallet Robb must have dragged up from his room. They were curled around each other, with furs and blankets to keep them warm. Now Ned could not stop a few tears from rolling down his cheek. He should have expected as much from his little wolfpack. Why would they be any less worried than he? He had never been more proud of his children.

"Alright then, Arya. There looks to be just enough room for you there next to Bran." Arya quickly tucked herself in with her siblings.

"Good night, sweetling. Knock softly in the morning when you're all awake."

"Good night, Father. Thank you."

Ned closed the door and walked back towards his wife, who lay still locked in sleep. He added more logs to the fire that already raged, and then resumed his vigil at her side, taking her hand in both of his and kissing it softly.

"Catelyn, my love...do you see how we need you? Please wake soon. I will be here, I will not leave you."

He watched the shadows the flames threw across her face, and wondered if she could hear him.


	11. Chapter 11

Somehow sleep found him that night, as he sat in a chair next to Catelyn's bed, holding her hand in both of his. He woke with a start - his chin was resting on his chest and then his head snapped to attention. It took a moment for him to remember where he was and why he was there. _Catelyn....my love....please wake up this morning..._ The first lights of dawn were streaming in through the windows and lit her face as he stretched his neck and back. He pressed a hand to her forehead - did she feel a bit warmer, or was that just his hope imagining things?

Ned walked to the fire to place more logs, noticing Jessa had left the room. She must have gone to fetch some breakfast and make the special teas for Catelyn. He figured he had a few moments alone with his wife.

Covered in furs as she was, he could only see her hand on her unbroken arm where it lay reaching towards his chair, and her hair braided and wrapped down past her face. Save a bandage wrapped across her forehead, she looked as though she were just sleeping in. He sat at the foot of her bed and pulled back the furs, taking one of her feet in his hands. His wife had beautiful feet. He was always drawn to her slim ankles, the dainty curve of her heel. She loved to dig her cold toes under his legs or beg him to warm them in his hands on winter nights. He would grumble in jest but he secretly loved it, and didn't know why. Now he sat, rubbing first one foot, then the other, pressing them between his hands, marveling at how tiny they were, breathing softly and kissing her big toes. She would always giggle when he did so, but now she did nothing. _Wake up, Cat. I miss you._

 At the soft knocking on the door, Ned quickly tucked her feet back under the covers, cleared his throat and resumed his lord's face. The maester came in with Jessa, carrying a tray of foods and teas.

"Good morning, my lord. How does she this morning? Any shaking spells last night?” Ned shook his head. “Good, that is good. May we offer you something to break your fast?"

"I do not want food at the present. But I thank you. Lady Catelyn is the same. She feels a little warmer to me, perhaps? I do not know."

"The first night is always the hardest. If she made it through well, then we have much reason to hope." Maester Luwin moved to the bedside and took Catelyn's hand in his, then laid a hand on her forehead. "I believe she does feel warmer. This is a good sign." Ned sighed and smiled in relief. Jessa moved to the head of the bed and began "feeding" Cat with some of the meat tea. Gods, please let this give her strength.

"Lord Stark, please forgive me my absence last night. I wrote to some other maesters I know, most of the night I was writing and looking in my books. The books did not reveal anything new, and I have yet to receive a returned raven, but I will tell you as soon as I do."

"Thank you, maester." 

"How were the children last night? I nearly tripped over them at the door," the maester smiled gently.

"Well, apparently Arya and Sansa had a bit of a row, which is what caused the hurry to your party? Arya gave her "confession" to me last night...she was convinced Catelyn's fall was her fault. But I think that is set to rights now. I sent them all to their bedchambers, but you see how well I am obeyed." 

The maester chuckled at that. "They love their mother. She is always so keen to be near them when they are ill, it does not surprise me that they did not make it to their rooms last night."

"She is a good mother to our children." Could he have ever asked for a better woman to be his? And to think that this life he led really belonged to Brandon...In his darker moments of self-doubt, Ned felt he would do anything to have his brother and father back, he truly would. But then the life he and Catelyn had built together...their beautiful children...it wouldn't be his. He often felt guiltiness in his happiness with Catelyn and their family, but to question the will of the gods with this line of thinking was useless, he knew. Who was to say what his life would look like had Brandon not died? But Ned was certain he would be miserable with anyone other than the woman who lay before him in her bed now.

"Lord Stark, that makes me think of something. When the children are sick, when all children are sick, they want their mothers. Many highborn ladies such as your wife usually have maids wait on their children for them during illness. But Lady Stark never leaves their side, does she?"

"No," Ned chuckled. "I usually have to force her to eat something or rest at all when one of our babes is ill. She would rather sit and rock them, singing or telling stories, and bring them to our bed to sleep until they are better." Ned paused to laugh silently at himself. Although these were ostensibly Catelyn's chambers, he couldn't even remember the last time he had slept in his own bed. Even on the few occasions they fought and he would voluntarily retire to his room for the night, it was never long before either he or Catelyn would be contritely knocking on the other's door, apologizing and crawling under her covers together. But this was the first time he had ever called it "our bed" aloud...and in front of the maester? Cat would have laughed at that.

"...and so maybe you could do that for her."

"Yes, indeed. Wait - what?" Ned shook his private thoughts away. The Maester had been addressing him this whole time while he'd been sharing a private joke with his unconscious wife. Perhaps he should eat something after all... "I'm sorry, Maester, I was lost in thought."

The maester smiled gently at Ned. "I was saying that when they are ill, the children love to hear Lady Stark tell stories, about when they were little, when she was little, even about you sometimes." Ned looked concerned. "Nothing too personal, I'm sure. Nothing to undermine your authority," he said in jest. "I was suggesting you do the same for your wife. Tell her stories. I often find that an ill person draws strength from the voices of their loved ones around them."

Ned looked uncomfortable. "Maester...you know I have no gift for words as Lady Catelyn does. That would be...perhaps the children can tell her stories, I do not think it would be...done well if I did."

"Oh, I don't know. I think you would do just about anything for her."

The maester gave Ned a nod and they both looked back at Catelyn's sleeping face, where Jessa had finished with the tea and was brushing back the hair from her forehead, looking lovingly at her lady and whispering words Ned couldn't make out. _Even her maids are as worried as I am..._

"Come, Jessa. Lord Stark, we'll be back shortly. I want to look for some new teas and check for ravens. I will send someone up with linens and logs. Would you like me to wake the children and have them to see you?"

"No...I would have them sleep a bit longer. It was a long night for them. These may be long days ahead."

"As you say, my lord. Although, if I may, you might want to heed your own advice at some point. We can have a pallet brought in so you might rest."

"Perhaps later. Thank you. That will be all for now."

The door closed behind them. Ned sat uncomfortably with Catelyn's hand back in his own, think about what Luwin had suggested. _Damn the maester and his ideas. Send me on a mission miles away to collect some rare herb, give me an enemy to fight, an army to command...do not ask me to spin yarns to my wife. Tell stories? Stories of what?_

Catelyn told stories of her childhood...well...Ned had some stories that might make her laugh. But to think of good times with Brandon and Lyanna was still as painful as it had always been. Then there was his time with Robert at the Eyrie, but the funny memories he could recall involved some rather incriminating evidence about his friend, whom Catelyn already seemed less than impressed with. Surely she wouldn't want to hear that. Then there were the wars. He’d shared little with her about those dark times. Only a few nights, when he would wake in her arms shaking from some nightmare, could she get him to share the burden of his pain with her.

Gods...when he thought back on his life...the happy stories really all began with his wife, Catelyn.

Well. The Maester was right. He would do anything for Catelyn if it helped. He would stand on his head and eat a flower if Maester said she would wake. At least he had not been asked to sing. He would try this. 

"Cat..." he began. He turned and checked the room to be sure he was alone. "Catelyn..." but he stopped. Why did he feel so silly? She was his wife. They had shared any number of conversations in this room, in this bed.

Perhaps that was it. Of all the mundane and meaningful conversations they had shared in this room, it was only in bed together, close to her, wrapped in each other's arms, that he ever felt secure enough to share things that didn't feel safe to say in the daylight. 

He hesitated for a moment, then gently shifted Catelyn over in the bed, careful to watch that her broken arm remained bound to her side. He settled in on his side next to her, pulling the furs over them both, stroking her hair for a moment, cupping her cheek, and then placing an arm around her. Gods, but it felt good to be next to her again. He hoped he wasn't hurting her in any way. Perhaps he would warm her a bit more like this.

Ned thought for a minute about yesterday morning, when he had caught his wife staring at him lost in thought. What had she said she'd been thinking on? Yes, their wedding and bedding. 

He'd never told her, but he thought often on those days they had shared together, too.

 

With the death of his brother and father, his sister's disappearance, and the hastily rearranged betrothal to Lady Catelyn Tully, who he had never met, the impending battle that he must lead...Eddard Stark had been almost numb to emotion when he rode into Riverrun to go through with his duty to his house. But it had all changed that night.

He took a deep breath and began.

"Catelyn...do you remember the night we first met? There was a banquet. Your father hosted all our bannermen...Jon met Lysa for the first time, and I met you when we rode into the courtyard. I remember you looked so beautiful, standing there and welcoming us to Riverrun, determined to honor the promises between our houses, but probably as scared as I was.

I remember thinking that if I must marry Brandon's betrothed, I wished to do it in Winterfell, in the godswood. Not in some sept in some place I'd never been, to some girl I'd never met, who was lovesick over my brother. I remember thinking I did not want to go through with it at all - but we needed your father's support. And I remembered all Brandon had said about you...that you were beautiful, and smarter than he'd hoped for, that you'd kissed him but wouldn't let him do more." Ned chuckled. "I can almost picture you swatting his hands away as he pawed at you. At the time, when he told me, I thought you harsh and prude, and agreed that you should have allowed more to your betrothed. Of course, now, I am glad you never shared more of yourself with him." He looked at Catelyn for her reaction, forgetting she was unconscious to all he said. That made it harder and easier to go on, but he felt himself relax a little, confessing things she would probably love to hear, but not having to explain every detail to his persistent Tully wife.

"And so...you probably think this is going to lead to the bedding. But, as you said yesterday, that has only improved with age, my love. Although, if I remember correctly, our first night was...memorable enough." Ned grinned at the memory. "Gods you were beautiful. And curious." He chuckled again and couldn't resist a quick kiss to her cheek.

"Where was I...yes, the banquet. I was so...but I remember you took my hand. The first time we held hands, under the table, away from your father's eyes. You held me as an anchor there that night, told me you shared my grief." Ned stopped to collect himself.

"And then I remember we said goodnight, I think you kissed me. You were so beautiful and kind, and it felt good to forget everything else and just look at you, Cat. Then we went to our rooms. And I stood in that room, and I felt this...panic that I've never felt before. I was not ready to go through with this all. Brandon would have been brilliant - at the banquet, at the battle, at everything. Everyone loved him. I had never wanted or envied him for it. You know me, I would have been happy to sit at Winterfell and help if needed. Live with you somewhere in a hut, have a thousand children." Ned stopped himself. Of course, if Brandon had lived, he wouldn't be married to Catelyn.

"Well. I stood there, praying for strength and wisdom. And then, so faint I was not sure I had heard it, a knocking at my door. Imagine my surprise to open it, and see you there, in just a shift and a robe, no less! The honorable Lady Tully, coming to a man’s bedchambers in the middle of the night! But you had this look on your face - like you had something you needed to say. I did not think much and pulled you into the room. Gods - had your father caught us! He would have run me through!" Ned smiled at her sleeping face, absentmindedly twirling her braid in his fingers. He did not think he'd talked so much in his life, but he felt himself happy at the memories. He might have always meant to share this story with Cat, one day when they were older, perhaps.

"So you, you came in, and then suddenly looked embarrassed, maybe. You walked over to the window and looked back at me, like I should know I was supposed to follow you. The first of many such looks you have given me, my lady. Aye, if I'd only known what was in store for me! And so we stood there for a moment..." Ned allowed himself to see it in his mind as he continued spinning the story for his sleeping wife...

*            *               *              *              *

"I...I know it is quite improper for me to come to you like this, the night before we are to be wed. I am sorry," Catelyn said.

"I am surprised to see you, to be sure. But is everything all right, Lady Catelyn?" 

She smiled at his use of her first name.

"No, it is not." 

Ned looked taken aback.

"Is there- are you-"

She drew a deep breath, "Eddard, we do not need to pretend that this is not incredibly difficult for both of us. That this is not what either of us expected."

"That...that is true, my lady."

"And I felt compelled to come here and just...talk, I guess. We are to be wed tomorrow, and we've only met today. We do not have the time that Brandon and I had to get to know one another...but...if you would not mind, I thought we could sit and talk a little tonight? I would rather not marry a stranger tomorrow." She gave him a small smile.

"Lady Catelyn..." he was at a loss for words. "I am not skilled at...you will find that Brandon and I are quite different in many ways. I hope that will not disappoint you. But I will not pretend to have a gift for conversation. And lately, with everything that is happening, I find I do not know what to say - " He looked so uncomfortable, Catelyn's heart went out to him.

"I know, Eddard," she said softly, coming to stand closer to him. "We could just sit together. I could tell you stories, I am good at telling stories. I know you must feel...so alone. The pain I feel at losing Brandon-" Ned could not meet her eyes now - "could not possibly compare to yours. And your father...he was a good man. Kind to me the few times I met him here." Ned nodded at that. "And, I would have you know that I pray for your sister's safe return. I pray to know her as my own goodsister."

Ned swallowed deeply and turned away, holding the back of his hand up to his mouth. He did feel alone. Suddenly her hands were on his cheeks.

"Come sit with me at the window?"

Looking into her eyes at the moment, he thought that if she had suggested they jump out of the window, he would have agreed.

She led him over by the hand, and they sat side-by-side for several minutes.

"It is strange, sometimes, to think that these same exact stars are also above my home in Winterfell, as far away as it is."

"Yes, I have thought that before! When I read about all the places in Westeros, beyond even, and how different they seem...these same stars will be above my sister in the Eyrie?! That seems impossible. And above King's Landing. Above you, where ever this battle takes you. And when I am at Winterfell, they will still be here in Riverrun, looking over Father and Edmure."

"Do you read often, Lady Catelyn?"

"Oh, I love to read when I can! I will read anything - over and over if I like it. Sometimes I find myself so busy, helping Father with Riverrun, with Edmure, even sometimes Lysa, that I do not get to read as much as I would like." She turned suddenly to Ned. "Did you know my mother died when I was quite young?" He nodded. "As did yours." He nodded again. She thought for a moment, and then shivered, though it wasn't cold.

"What is it, Lady Catelyn?" 

"It is just...so many women die in childbirth."

Ned started. He had always known this – he remembered well his mother's passing. But he had never had to think about the reality of it since then. Was Lady Catelyn trying to tell him something?

"Are you...scared about...tomorrow night and..." he wasn't sure how to continue.

Catelyn looked on him with an embarrassed face. "I'm sorry, I know I speak too freely sometimes. My father says I need to remember to keep more thoughts in my head. But, well, I am a little frightened in the...getting with child. And then bringing it into this world. But...there must be an heir."

Ned could do no more than nod. His soon-to-be-wife was honest and straightforward, as least. And for that he was thankful. He could never abide all the games and flirtations with the castle girls that his brother and friends had seemed to so enjoy.

"Do you like to swim, Eddard?"

"Please, you must call me Ned. Um...we do not have much opportunity for swimming in Winterfell, or at the Eyrie." He saw her face fall. "But I do enjoy a good river. You have many beautiful rivers here. I suppose that's where you get the name."

"How very observant of you, Ned," Catelyn teased. "Yes, it is so beautiful. Look at the moon dance on the waters now. I shall miss that."

Suddenly it was very important to Ned that she be able to see something similar in Winterfell. "We have hotsprings in Winterfell, my lady. They are always warm, even in winter. They are beautiful as well. And there are rivers, not too far off. I could show you sometime, if you wish." 

"I would like that, my lord." Catelyn smiled to herself.

They were silent for a moment.

"Do you enjoy riding, Lady Catelyn?"

"Indeed. I'm a fair hand at it. I understand your sister is practically part horse."

"Yes, gods, Lyanna can ride. All over Winterfell and the woods - she has quite a thirst for adventure." Ned paused for a moment, thinking quietly about Lyanna, wondering where she might be tonight, under these same stars somewhere alive, he hoped. Cat could sense his thoughts taking a darker turn...she did not wish to burden him tonight with thoughts of his sister.

"Ned - tell me more of Winterfell. You've been away so long...what do you most look forward to about going home? What does it look like?"

He smiled to himself. "Winterfell...I miss the walls, the market around them. Looking out over the forest. The meals in the hall. It rises from the woods as you get closer, getting bigger and bigger in your sight. They say giants helped Brandon the Builder to construct it, eight thousand years ago -"

"Giants?!" Catelyn interrupted. "Oh, that is so exciting!" She tucked her feet up and rested her chin on her knees as she drew her arms around her legs.

Ned laughed. "Well, that is not true, of course, but Old Nan would like you to think it is." 

"Old Nan?" 

"Yes. Knows everything that has ever happened or not happened at Winterfell. The 'old' part of her name is earned. She is, oh, I'd say six-and-a thousand years old." 

Catelyn laughed at his joke. He found he liked her laugh, the way it threw her head back and made her hair shimmer in the firelight. It almost made him think that he could laugh, too.

And so he had kept talking, trying to remember Winterfell and growing up there - chasing Brandon, playing pranks on Benjen, doing whatever Lyanna asked of him, because she'd always been a soft spot in his heart. He told Catelyn of the blue winter roses, and passing warm wine around the fires when it was truly cold, and how it can snow even in summer. "Truly?" she had asked. "I have never even seen a snow here in Riverrun." "Well, it can seem very magical. We would always try to catch snowflakes on our tongues, and shove snow into each other's clothes." "But wouldn't that be terribly cold?" "Exactly." That earned him another laugh.

And then Cat had told him of her summer years in Riverrun - swimming everyday with her sister and brother and friend Petyr, running through the woods, the beauty of the sept. He learned that she loved lemoncakes, and singing as well as dancing, which he knew. She seemed to know the name of every person that served her family in Riverrun, and spoke of them as friends, telling Ned story after story about the castle gossip that kept him smiling, eventually chuckling against his will as Cat described the surprising underbelly of the servant world that he had never even stopped to consider. A few times, caught up in the enjoyment of just watching her speak with such animation, finding something new about her that he thought beautiful, he forgot to listen, but she didn't seem to notice.

Then suddenly she turned to the window - "Ned! Oh, look! I think it is nearly dawn! The river has gone still."

Sure enough, the night was fading to give way to the day. Their wedding day.

"Gods be good! I need to fly to my room! Oh, I hope to catch a few hours of sleep or I will look a haggard old woman when you meet me in the sept!" She stood suddenly and practically ran to the door, he chasing her when she suddenly turned back to him and they stood very still, very close to each other, realizing they needed to say something.

"My lady-"

"Ned-"

They smiled at each other, Ned shifted shyly on his feet.

"Thank you for coming to see me tonight, Catelyn. I...am glad we have now met more properly."

"Oh, Ned. I am glad, too." She looked at him for a moment before throwing his arms around his neck. He stumbled backwards before slowly returning her embrace. "I will be your family, Ned. You will come back from this war, and we will be a family in Winterfell. I will be a good wife to you," she whispered close to his ear, and like that she was gone.

 

*            *            *             *             *

 

Ned lay still for a moment, warm from the memory of that night, when a tiny spark of hope had planted itself within his heart.

“It was then, Cat, that I knew that in you, at least, the gods would bless me. I could not have asked for more understanding than what you gave me that night. And then, meeting you in the sept…and of course you looked as beautiful as you ever did, on gods know how little sleep we got. You are even more beautiful to me now, my love. Knowing each other as we do. Raising our children together. All you have forgiven me for. Please wake, Cat, my love. I need you.”


	12. Chapter 12

"Rickon! Not so close! You will wake them!" Robb hissed.

"But I miss her! I want to see Mother!"

"You will. She looks well enough. I think Father has been taking good care of her."

"Why is he here at all? Doesn't he have his own bedchambers?"

"Well...yes...."

"Mother makes _me_ sleep in _my_ own bedchambers. Why she doesn't make Father?" Bran chimed in.

Robb looked desperately at Sansa for help. She was too embarrassed to be helpful. But Arya, as usual, was ready.

"Oh Bran, don't be silly. Father always sleeps here. I doubt he even knows where his own room is."

Bran seemed confused. "But why would they want to sleep together?"

Rickon was also concerned, "Yes, why, Robb?"

"Mother looks better this morning, doesn't she?" Sansa had finally found her composure.

"Yes, her color is coming back. She has warmed up somehow," Robb answered.

"Oh, that must be why Father is in bed with her. To help warm her up," Bran offered helpfully.

Ned could hear his children whispering behind him. _Damn, I had not meant to fall asleep. And now the children..._ He could not decide what would cause the least discussion - to stay in bed with Catelyn, or to get up and act as if he had never been there. He settled for the latter, quickly swinging his legs around and depositing himself in the chair beside her bed.

"Good morning, children," he was always so formal at the beginning of the day.

"Good morning, Father," they nodded in unison. Rickon and Bran immediately walked to the side of the bed, Rickon laying his head against Ned's shoulder, and Bran kneeling and looking seriously at Catelyn's face. Sansa moved to the foot of the bed.

"How is Mother?" Arya asked.

"Your mother has been fighting off that cold feeling all night, and has not shook since you last saw her. I am very thankful this morning," he told them.

"Oh good!" Sansa cried. "She does look better."

"Do you think she will wake up soon? I miss her," Rickon turned his face into Ned's neck as Ned scooped him up onto his lap and held him close.

"I hope so, son. We must be strong and brave for her."

"Is there anything I might do to help, Father?" Robb asked urgently.

"Yes, me too, Father!" "Can I help?" Arya and Bran both asked.

Ned thought for a moment - the story-telling the Maester had suggested...although he had felt a bit awkward when he had started, in a way, talking to Cat had made him feel a little better. And it had felt good to lie next to her. The children would probably enjoy it as well.

"There is something you can do to help your mother.....something the Maester suggested. Can you think of what she does for you when you feel poorly?"

"Mother always brings me good things to eat and drink. And she sings songs to me," said Bran.

"She tells stories to make me feel better. And brushes my hair," offered Sansa.

"She makes sure I am comfortable in bed, and brings me her furs. Sometimes she gets in bed with me until I fall asleep. And of course, the stories," said Arya.

"Exactly," said Ned. "The Maester said that even though your Mother is sleeping, she might be able to hear us if we talk to her, and that will help her feel strong and get better. So perhaps you could think of something to tell your mother." 

"Like a story?" asked Rickon.

"It could be a story, or something you love about her. Anything."

"That seems a little...odd, Father. I don't think I would be good at it," Robb grimaced.

"I did it, Robb," Ned countered softly.

The children all turned to him with shocked looks on their faces.

"Father...that doesn't sound like you. You told Mother a story? When she isn't even _awake_?! What story did you tell her?" Arya asked.

 "Was it something scary like Old Nan's stories?" asked Rickon.

Ned chuckled, but was suddenly feeling very self-conscious. "No, Rickon. I just told her a story about...how I knew she...well it was about when we first met before we were to be wed at Riverrun," he finished awkwardly.

"What? I have never heard _that_ story," Sansa cried.

Ned froze - "Sansa, has your mother told you many stories about....when we first met?"

Sansa blushed in her response, although she was unsure why her father would be angry. "Well, not really, she has just told some stories about...just lovely stories, Father."

"Can we hear the story you told to Mother?" asked Bran.

"No! No......it was more of a story I wanted to share with just your mother." Ned wished he had never brought this up.

"Well, I think that's lovely, Father," Sansa recovered and smiled shyly at him. "I am sure Mother loved it. She likes to hear lovely things like that."

"If you won't tell us _that_ story, will you tell another kind of story that we _could_ hear, Father?" Arya asked, eyes full of challenge.

Ned looked out the window, at the growing day, as if something divine might intervene and save him. He cursed his fumbled attempt to include the children, now worried that it would only lead to more awkward situations for him. 

He had started this conversation, he must end it. He sighed heavily.

"I had meant this to be...well. Nevermind that. I know you do not want to leave your mother, but I would ask that you all go to the Great Hall, break your fast, and bathe. No protests, please." Arya, Bran and Rickon quickly rearranged their pouty faces. "Then you may return here, and your mother and I would love to hear your stories, or something you could tell her you love about her."

The children looked at him solemnly.

"Do you really think it will help her to hear them, Father?" Sansa asked seriously. Ned noticed Robb looking at him with doubt on his face.

"Truly, children, I am sure that your mother, sleeping she may be, is sensitive to the voices of those she loves most. We must draw her back to us in any way we can."

Robb cut in, "but Father, this seems so strange. And desperate. It has just been a day. She might just wake in the next few moments. Are you sure -"

"Robb," Ned said suddenly. "There is nothing that I would not do, today or any other day, if it might make your Mother happy and well again as soon as possible."

Before he could say more, Ned was distracted by Bran, who was calling to him - 

"Father! She turned just now! Does it mean something? Is she waking?"

Ned looked quickly down at Cat, who seemed to be pulling her body away from something in her sleep. He held his breath - he felt the world was holding it's breath - as she pulled up slightly and shifted her head to face the windows. Her mouth worked as she settled against the pillow, mumbling unintelligible words.

"Cat! Oh, Cat." He uttered desperately. "Catelyn, can you hear me?"

She seemed to fight against something in her dreams, moving her good arm against unseen demons, eyelids fluttering and Ned feared she would fall into another shaking fit. On impulse, he grabbed at her hand, pulling it to his chest as he drew his chair closer to her.

"I am here, my love. Our children are here. Please. Please, gods I beg you. Catelyn, oh wake, love. Look at me."

He could hear the children around him and Cat's bed, whispering encouragement. 

"Mother, please" "Mother, are you alright?" "Wake up, I miss you."

Her mouth opened and closed again. Her breathing slowed. They all stood stock still for several minutes.

And yet she did not wake.

Time seemed to stretch before and between them.

Ned noticed most of the children wiping away unwanted tears. In his own heart, he, too, felt disappointment. It had seemed like she was about to wake - _gods, Catelyn, wake!_ And the children...they might think all manner of things, despite how reassuring he had tried to be last night...he must be strong. Digging deep into himself, he summoned courage;

"Children. I know it is hard. But please, do not worry." He took a deep breath. "Go to the Great Hall. I will break my fast here. In a few hours, I expect you all here again with stories to tell me and your mother, do you understand?"

"Yes, Father," they said, almost in chorus together.

"May I give Mother a kiss? I won't move her, I promise," said Bran.

"You may." 

One by one the children kissed her forehead or her cheek, except Robb, who waited until the rest had filed out before turning to Ned.

"Father, is there something you are not telling us?"

Ned thought for a moment, debating how much he should say.

"Honestly, Robb, we do not know as much as I would like. She might wake any moment with little more than a headache. Or. It could be more complicated than that."

"What do you mean by _complicated_?"

"I do not want you to worry, son. Your mother is a Tully; she is a fighter, even in her sleep. Pray, Robb. Keep strong for your brothers and sisters. For me." Ned lay a hand on Robb's shoulder, willing his son to understand that that was all he was able to say.

"Yes, Father," Robb said. He turned and left for the Great Hall.

 Ned sank back into the chair, his head in his hands.

"Gods, Cat! If I only knew what you needed...what I could do!" He looked toward his wife, reaching for her hand, willing her to wake and turn toward him.

She did not.

Neither of them noticed Arya standing at the doorway.


	13. Chapter 13

He knew he should eat more. He could hear Cat in his mind; "Ned Stark - you serve your family and your people nothing if you lend yourself too weak to hold conversation and make decisions. Break. Your. Fast."

But try as he might, he could not make himself choke down more than a few bites of bread and a few sips of weak ale. Despite Catelyn looking much, much better this morning - her cheeks a normal color, her skin not so translucent - he was simply too anxious to have an appetite.

The children had gone downstairs to join the rest of the castle in the Great Hall for breakfast. With a start, Ned realized he had not seen to his men since Cat's fall. Perhaps this afternoon, if she continued to improve, and he could stomach the idea of leaving her side for a second...

The shaking spell that had hit in the few minutes he had taken to step outside and address their children frightened him. Badly. In his head he knew that it was very prideful to think that his presence alone could calm her and keep her from the shaking fits. But he also couldn't help thinking that if he just stayed close to her, held her as much as he could, telling and retelling her the stories of their life together - all they had accomplished and all that was yet to see - that the strength of his love for her, and her children's love for her, would bring her back to them.

He broke his stare and threw another log on the fire. He was sweating, but let the fire rage. Somehow, he had to get her warmer, draw her spirit out from where it lay dormant inside her.

What did the gods want in all this? He turned to look out the windows. _I cannot lose her...What can I do..._

He leaned heavily against the frame of the windows, not noticing the Maester and Jessa as they came in softly. 

"Lord Stark?" the Maester asked.

Ned turned to this maester, quickly clearing his throat and his thoughts, and made himself put on his lord's face.

"She looks even better now than she did at dawn, my lord."

"Yes, maester. I thank you."

"Anything I should know, my lord?"

"No. No shaking, really. She seemed to wake for a moment, made movements, but...then it was over. Have you read anything new, heard anything - any ravens?" Ned asked.

"No, but I am very encouraged by how her color has changed, and her temperature feels almost normal. These are good signs."

"Indeed." Ned sighed and walked back toward his chair by Catelyn's bedside to resume his vigil. The maester looked at him with a look of pity on his face. He could tell his lord was taking this very hard and felt helpless in the situation.

"You should eat, ser."

"I have tried."

Maester Luwin sighed and seemed ready to say more, but at that moment, five Stark children came in the door.

"Is she awake yet?" "We waited as long as we could." "I have my story, Father!" "I brought you some pie!" Rickon's comment came with a handful of what might have been pie, wrapped in a linen he must have swiped from the table, and plopped into Ned's lap as the rest crowded toward Cat.

"Gods! Watch your selves!" Ned called sharply, reaching to Bran and Rickon, who had moved closer to the head of the bed.

Maester Luwin only chuckled from the seat he had drawn close to Catelyn's head. "Children! Give your mother space to breathe!"

"Sorry, Maester. Sorry, Mother. Is she awake yet?" Bran called.

'No, child. But we have much to hope for today. Your Father tells me that you will be sharing some stories this morning?" Ned raised his eyebrows at that. It seemed the Maester thought quite highly of this idea. "Do you mind if I listen to a few as I continue to look after your mother? I need to check her bandages and Jessa will be giving her some tea." The good man addressed his question to the children, but looked to Lord Stark for consent as he did so.

"Of course you may stay, Maester," Sansa answered for the group, as Ned nodded in response.

"Very good then. Thank you, Lady Sansa."

"You are quite welcome. Now, who shall go first, Father? I asked everyone before we left the hall, and made sure everyone has something ready to say."

Ned smiled as his daughter, who seemed to grow more into the natural leader her mother was every day.

"Well, I suppose we should start with the youngest first. Rickon - what have you to say about your lady mother?"

"Oh," the youngest looked a little nervous to be called on first, clearly thinking this would be by volunteer order. Rickon chewed on his lips. "Well, Father, I could not think of any one good story. But Sansa told me I could just tell Mother what is my most favoritest thing about her. Is that all right?"

"Of course, son."

"Can I sit in your lap first?"

Ned smiled more now, grabbing Rickon by the waist and wrapping him in a bear hug, placing him on his knee and pulling his back up against Ned's strong chest. This last child was a wilder one than all the rest pooled together, and it wasn't often he asked for parental affection. "All right, now, I've got you, Rickon. Let's hear what you have to say. We will all listen closely, right, children?"

Recognizing what their father was trying to do for Rickon, the other four children nodded seriously, giving Rickon all their attention.

"Well," Rickon began, "I love Mother more than anyone else or anything at all in Westeros. Except for the rest of my family. But I probably still love her more, I'm sorry."

The others nodded encouragement, "Of course, Rickon, go on."

Rickon drew a deep breath, feeling the import of his words. "I love Mother because she always tells me good stories. And she sings me to sleep if I am scared." Now he addressed his words to Catelyn. "And...and I know you are just pretending to be mad when I fall and rip holes in my clothes. And you are the only mother I would ever want to have." When he finished, Rickon turned quickly to fold himself into Ned's arms.

"Thank you, Rickon, that was very nice to say," Robb said.

"All right, it is my turn," said Bran. "I have a story to tell about Mother, and how I know she is the best Mother, because she truly understands little boys. It is about the first time I went climbing on the castle walls."

"Oh, here we go!" Robb said, good-naturedly.

"Robb..." Sansa shot him a warning look.

"Weeellll," Bran continued, "I had figured out how to climb, and I was so excited to see everything. Father - it is so amazing! You can see everything in the castle, and beyond the castle, and the woods! I shall take you sometime." 

"I grew up here, too, Bran, lest you forget," Ned winked at him.

"You mean to say _you've_ climbed the walls, Father?" Arya asked skeptically.

"Mayhaps....but Bran is telling a story, let him continue," Ned answered.

"All these times Mother yelled at Bran for the same thing, and Father had already done it!!!" Arya whispered to Robb, who ruffled her hair.

Bran began again, "so I was climbing the walls, and Mother was in the courtyard for some reason, and I must have caught her eye. I remember being so scared when I realized she had seen me. She stood very, very still. And then she said my name. The whole thing."

"Ohhhh she called you Brandon?" Rickon said.

"Yes, and so I knew I was truly in trouble. But I didn't want to talk to her...I didn't know what to do exactly, but I kept climbing and found a place to hide. I stayed there until dark. And then I was so hungry, I thought to sneak to the kitchens. But, I guess she knew that is what I would do, for I walked into the kitchen and there she was."

"Oh, no!" Rickon and Arya both sighed in sympathy, clearly having experienced this kind of trouble before.

"I know! It all seemed terrible. I was so scared of her. But she sat there waiting at a table. And she had a plate for me from dinner, which I had missed."

"Oh, now I remember that night!" Sansa cried. "She was furious with you!"

Ned chuckled, looking at Cat's sleeping face. "I remember, too, Bran. She was worried out of her mind, but we had searched the castle, and the woods, and the grounds, and everywhere we could think. I had to convince your mother that you had found a better hiding spot than we knew, and would turn up when you were hungry enough."

Bran looked sheepish. "Yes, well. I wanted to turn and run to my room, but she had seen me. So I walked closer to her, and I could tell she had been crying. So I felt badly and was going to tell her I was sorry. But then she held out her arms and so...well..." Bran got suddenly shy. "Anyway, we talked. And I ate dinner. And she promised that she wasn't too mad, only very, very worried. And that I must stop climbing, or at least be very careful. She said that it would break her heart should anything bad happen to me."

Bran turned from the group and looked at his mother. Maester Luwin had been leaning over her, checking this bandage and that as Bran spoke.

"I'm very sorry I made you worry, Mother. I will always be very careful." Bran looked at Catelyn with all the seriousness his little face could muster without breaking into tears.

"Bran - Lord Stark - " the Maester cut in suddenly, his hand on Catelyn's wrist, his head cocked to the side as if listening to a sound no one could hear but him.

"What is it?" Ned asked.

"I was not sure, but now I think I am certain...as I was checking Lady Stark while Bran was speaking...her pulse - that is, the heartbeat, what keeps the blood flowing and the person breathing, and the temperature regulated - it has been weak, almost hard to find in the normal places. But while Bran was speaking, it seemed to speed up a bit, approaching what would be a normal rate."

Ned dared to hope. "What does that mean...Maester, what do you think..."

"Well, I am not sure. But as I said earlier, the fact that she came through the night stronger than she entered it; her color returning; her pulse up...more reason to hope, my lord."

"Oh, Father, we must keep talking to her! It is like you said! Even in sleep, she is responding to the voices of those she loves!" Sansa cried.

"Yes, Sansa. We must...but are you sure, Maester?"

"Yes, Lord Stark. The pulse is definitely stronger than it was before the children began speaking to her."

Ned felt his own blood quicken at this news. He had not, even for one second, considered that Cat might not wake up. Despite the Maester's advice to prepare himself for every possibility, he had firmly pushed out any option but Cat waking up, right as rain. But now there was hope that it would happen sooner, rather than later. They must keep talking to her, drawing her back to them.

"Arya, it is your turn," Ned said, trying to mask his anxiety. He looked to his left and right, but did not see his daughter. "Arya?" he called. "Arya?!" he placed Rickon on the floor and whipped his head around. The other children looked around the room in surprise, too. Where was she?

Her sniffle in the corner caught his ear.

"Arya!" he barked. "What are you doing, child? Come." 

She did not move. Ned realized her head was ducked into her knees. She was crying. He was torn between leaving Cat's side and comforting his daughter...but he softened. 

"Robb, here, take Rickon and hold your mother's hand." He walked to Arya, where she sat crouched in the corner of the room. "Child," he said as he knelt beside her. "What is the matter?"

"I can't tell Mother a story. I can't speak to her. I heard you earlier. She will not wake up."

Ned felt his body go cold at the determined resignation in her voice.

"What do you mean? Of course she will wake up! She only wants to hear your voice, sweetheart. We might bring her back with our stories." He reached to stroke her hair, but she flinched back.

"But I heard you tell Robb!! You aren't being honest with us. "It is complicated," you said. And I am not sure you are right that this isn't all my fault! What if she hears my voice in her sleep, but it only causes her to shake? To be more upset at me? To never wake up? I will ruin everything for everyone!" She had stood as she was speaking, yelling at her father with accusatory eyes, and now she moved to run from the room.

Ned reached to grab her quickly. He pulled her into his arms, even as she struggled against him.

"Arya! Arya. No. No! This has never been your fault. We talked about this already. You must believe me. Your mother loves you. She loves you! She always will, no matter what you could ever do. She wants to hear you as much as the others."

"No! No, she doesn't!" Arya cried.

"I have a story to tell Mother!" Sansa cried suddenly, standing up from where she sat at the foot of Cat's bed.

Ned and Arya both turned to look at her in surprise.

"All right, Sansa, just give me a moment - " Ned began.

"No, Father. I will tell my story now." Sansa spoke with such determination that Ned didn't even know how to respond. Even Arya seemed shocked into silence. Sansa looked meaningfully at her father, and Ned simply nodded and remained where he was, knelt with a struggling Arya in his arms.

"Very well. I have many stories I could tell about how I love Mother, or how she has made me feel special. When she brushes my hair she always tells me one of her favorite love songs or poems about knights and romance." Sansa blushed. "We like to make up stories together, too. But sometimes she will just tell me a story about us as children, or being a wife or a mother. Sometimes I ask her for a story about Father, or Uncle Edmure, or growing up at Riverrun. Well, one day I asked for a story about Arya. We had fought that day, you see, and I was wanting Mother to commiserate with me about how annoying Arya could be. I was expecting a story about Arya getting into trouble."

Ned felt Arya stiffen in his arms, and he cast a warning glance at Sansa, who almost imperceptibly nodded her head back at him.

"But that is not the story she told. Right away, when I asked for a story about Arya, Mother started laughing. 'Oh, my true wolf-girl, Arya,' she said. And she told me that none of us had ever given her so much trouble while she had us in the womb, save Arya. And for that, she had been the most anxious to meet the child who had been fighting to be a noticed in the world since the moment she was conceived." 

Sansa blushed, knowing a little of the act she was alluding to. And Ned had to smile at that, knowing the exact circumstances under which Arya had been conceived.

Sansa continued - "and she told me that Arya was walking before the rest of us ever started, that Arya would run after Robb and Jon, that she was so excited when Bran was born, because she knew she would finally have someone to really wrestle with - "

"And never let me win!" Bran cut in, slightly indignant, but smiling all the same.

"You're lying. You're making this up to make me feel better. This is stupid," Arya said, but her voice held little conviction.

"I am not, Arya. Mother told me the funniest stories. Of how you once cut your own hair, but didn't clean it up, and tried to say that _I_ had cut _my_ hair, even though they are such different colors, and I would never cut my hair! And of the time you snuck into Septa's room and stole all the thread, thinking that we wouldn't have to have stitching lessons if there was no thread, but then Sophie found it when she made your bed - "

"Ah! I always wondered how it had ended up back in Septa's room..." Arya murmured.

Sansa giggled. "Or once when she went to kiss you goodnight, and found you asleep with a bow and arrow in your hands! And then she said, and I will never forget, that you were and you are the child that truly makes her feel young, for you are always surprising her, and testing her skills as a mother. And that she loves you for it. For being so unique."

Arya seemed to absorb the warmth and love of the words, and be embarrassed by them all at once. But Ned felt her soften in his hold on her, and he released her from his grasp to watch her walk over to Catelyn's bedside, where the Maester still sat with Catelyn's wrist balanced in his hands. Bran and Rickon had taken up Ned's chair, and Robb had moved to stand by the fire, but Sansa looked upon Arya with more tenderness than Ned had seen between the sisters since...well, perhaps ever.

In characteristic Arya fashion, she walked up to the bedside and then quickly sank down into a seated position right on the floor. She looked around the bed at her siblings, drew a breath, and began. "All right, Mother. I am not very good at stories. But I will tell you that I love you because you are so very kind. And you are beautiful and I wish I looked more like you, but that is all right. Father says I am funny like you. And I think you are clever. And I know there are five of us, but I think you love us all. Oh, and Father. We are a very lucky family."

Maester chuckled. "You are indeed."

"Did she like my story, Maester?" Arya asked.

"Yes, child. Her pulse is steady. I liked it, too." 

Arya smiled to herself, and looked back to her Father for confirmation. Ned nodded. He was proud of his Arya. It was true what Sansa had said - Arya had been a fighting part of this world since the moment she was conceived. Ned could remember that night well...and the painful months leading up to it...

 

*            *                *                 *                * 

It had been difficult, to say the least, since Catelyn had come to Winterfell. Out of the dozens of ways he had imagined she might react to seeing Jon with him, to the news that he had brought a bastard child home...he had not guessed it would be this painful for them both.

They had only been together as husband and wife for two weeks before he had left for the Rebellion. While she had borne him a child, his heir, in that time, she might have been less surprised to learn that he had spent time in the company of other women. Men of all stations in life often had bastards, especially during times of war, when they were away from home for so long. So it was not too unreasonable of an idea. Of course, Ned knew the truth of the circumstances, but how could he possibly involve an almost stranger in the complexity of it all, even if they had been married in the sept?

So he had introduced Jon as his bastard. It seemed the safest, least harmful option for the most amount of people. Ned was nothing if not practical. And he had rejoiced over his babbling, cooing, falling all over on wobbly legs first son Robb. Robb was a beautiful baby, and Ned was so excited for him and his cousin - no, half-brother - to grow to be best of friends.

But Catelyn. Oh, Catelyn.

The tiny bud of a relationship that had started to blossom in those two weeks they were together - he had wanted to cup his hands around it and protect it, let it grow, nurture it. How he had hoped with each letter she had sent him during the war, how he had fumbled over his responses. How the news that he was to be a father had lit a fire in his blood to fight the battles that must be fought, end this perpetual war and go home to Winterfell, to truly be the family Cat had talked about that night before they were wed.

But in bringing home Jon, he had all but destroyed it. She smiled when she should, was kind to all in her company, and learned quickly how to be the Lady of Winterfell. She did not turn him away from her bed chambers, but her participation in bed felt of duty, of trying to conceive another child for Winterfell, and simply trying to please him as quickly as possible. The slowly blooming passion and pleasure she had only begun to find in their lovemaking that first fortnight of marriage was gone.

He felt that he annoyed her. Their conversation was polite, but had no depth. She did not speak to him or reach for him spontaneously, did not laugh, save when she was with Robb, and the sparkle he had found so fetching in her eyes was all but gone.

When she had told him she was with child for the second time, he had been so excited. He would be home for every moment of this journey with her - he hoped it would bring them closer together. But she seemed hesitant, unwilling to believe he was genuine in wanting to assist her to the Great Hall, checking with her that she had fed well and rested well enough each day, and offering to spend more time with Robb, even hiring another nursemaid if necessary.

She had been polite, but wary, and waved most of his attentions off, in a manner that he would come to recognize as characteristically Catelyn - believing herself the only one capable to look after her own children. And truly wanting to be the only one; wanting to be the best mother she could, despite her highborn status, which would make most other ladies feel they should have a little help to manage the children, as they had many other duties to attend to.

By unspoken agreement, he had stopped visiting her bedchambers when she told him that she was certain she was with child by a few moons. They never discussed it, but he simply led her to her chambers after dinner, and then walked back to the Great Hall to see to his men, to check in with Jon and his nursemaid, or the godswood to pray over the health of his growing family. When his blood ran too hot to pass time in those ways, he took down man after man, practicing swords in the courtyard until he was too exhausted to think on his desires. In his darker moments, he realized she probably thought he would be out galavanting with the women of Winterfell - as Lord, he could probably have anyone he wanted, any way that he wanted. He also realized he had given her all the reason to think so. 

And he missed her in those nights...wished that he could at least stay in her chambers with her and Robb, watching them play by the fire. He found himself wanting to hold her in the night, and while his loins ached to make love to her, he felt he would have been content just to have her close to him in bed, to smell her hair, to see and feel all the incredible ways her body was changing as their babe grew inside her. He couldn't remember it with his own mother, and never paid attention to any other woman. It was a great mystery to him - her breasts and her belly growing forward, the feel of a kick under his hand the few times she had grasped it and placed it on her stomach during meals, once even gasping - "My lord! The babe! Oh, I do not think he or she likes carrots very much!" and they had laughed shyly together in the Great Hall at their own private joke, marveling at the life inside her.

But he didn't know what to say or how to approach her. And he did not want to say anything wrong that would destroy the careful happiness they can constructed with each other at the news at this new child, building over the damage from him bringing home Jon as his bastard.

So he lay in bed at night, taking himself in hand, groaning in frustration, brief images of their nights together fueling his passion until he spent, relieved but disappointed all the same.

Then came Sansa - gods, the birth.

After finding him in the courtyard and telling him that she was certain the child was coming this day, he had walked her up to her chambers and demanded to know what she needed. She had sent him for the Maester and her maids, but then she had shooed him outside, claiming there was nothing he could do but see to Robb and pray for a safe delivery. 

He had lasted all of an hour, pacing fretfully, drinking wine, before he went into the courtyard for sword practice, where he promptly destroyed all five men who warily agreed to go up against him.

And then he found himself, sweaty, breathing heavily, and determined, walking right into her room.

"Gods, Ned! What are you doing here?!" Her hair was plastered against her face and neck, sitting up as best she could against the headboard, hands clutching and twisting in the sheets as the Maester looked directly between his wife's legs with his hands on her thighs. If she hadn't been in such obvious pain, he might have suggested that females should be allowed to be Maesters, and that he would go look for one right now. But instead he pulled up a chair next to her, grabbed a hand in both of his, and drew her in for a hard kiss before settling in the seat. She pulled back in surprise.

"I cannot stand it, Catelyn. Please, let me help."

They had connected eyes for a moment before she nodded mutely. 

He spent the next few hours whispering encouragement, pressing a cold linen to her head and neck, stroking her arm and hands, encouraging her to grip him as hard as she could. He was awe-struck with his wife - the effort it took to bring new life into this world. Normally so carefully guarded, the pain must have been so intense she did not seem to care how he saw her in that moment - groaning, writhing, panting in concentration.

And finally, there was Sansa.

"A daughter, my lady, my lord." The smiling but clearly tired maester held up the squirming, crying auburned-hair babe for approval, and husband and wife had laughed and she had cried in her exhaustion at the overwhelming reality of another child, surviving another birth, adding to their family. A beautiful child they had created together. Ned rested his forehead against Catelyn's, "I cannot believe it, Cat. She is beautiful. You are so strong."

"We shall call her 'Sansa.'" Cat had pronounced. "Our first daughter."

The days after Sansa's birth were joyous - the bells rang from dawn until dusk - a daughter of Winterfell. The following weeks proved that Cat was a wonderful mother - tending to Robb, doting on Sansa, who was a beautiful and well-behaved babe - growing each day and soon gracing her parents with drooling smiles. Robb alternated between fascinated with his sister and annoyed that his mother's attention was now divided.

Indeed. Divided. Between Robb and Sansa.

With little to none left for Ned.

And it had taken a few months after Sansa's birth, but he was ready to admit to Cat that he wanted it. 

 

It was a stormy night - winds and rains rattled the castle. Begging exhaustion and pardons through her maid, Cat had remained in her own bedchambers instead of joining him in the Great Hall for the evening meal. Jessa explained that Robb was feverish and also frightened of the storms, and Sansa was fretful as well, but that Catelyn had steadfastly refused to let one of her maids take them to the nursery, insisting they would be calmer with their mother and that she was more than willing to tend to them.

"Begging your pardon, but she's being more stubborn than usual, my lord. I think she is over-tired. I cannot remember the last time I saw her eat a full meal or look rested. The poor dear." Jessa, a lovely older woman with a few children of her own, if Ned could recall correctly, clucked her tongue. "She might listen to you, my lord. My advice is falling on deaf ears. She needs her rest."

"Thank you, Jessa. I will go and see her soon."

 

 _Gods - help me to speak clearly,_ he prayed silently as he climbed the stairs to her room, a tray of foods in his hands, and with lemoncakes (which, to their delight in that first fortnight, they had discovered they both liked), and a weak ale. Which he could not decide if it were for him or her.

He approached the door and realized he had no way to knock while carrying the tray. But he didn't want to announce himself - some urge he could not name wanted to surprise her with his "gift" of a meal brought to her room, and, if he were to speak truly, he hoped she would be happy to see him as well. He wanted her reaction.

Ned debated for a minute, and then looking quickly to be sure no one was around, he turned sideways, leaned and "knocked" on the door with his forehead.

"Come in," he heard the tired voice of his wife within.

Not wanting to reveal himself, he could do nothing but knock again.

A moment passed, and then he could make out the shuffling of her feet approaching the door. She pulled it open, clearly irritated and clearly expecting anyone but him, probably one of her maids. Sansa was curled into her neck, fast asleep. Cat's hair was in, or perhaps had been in, a loose braid over her shoulder. She wore nothing but a shift. 

Whatever short response she had thought she would be delivering died on her lips when she saw her husband there with a tray of foods. "Ned! What are you doing here? The children are crying, I am sorry I did not come down - I will eat later, please, do not trouble yourself. I must look a fright! Oh, I am so sorry." She half-whispered, throwing a glance over her shoulder where Robb was sleeping in her bed.

"Catelyn, you mistake me. I come with no reproach. I only missed...I wanted to bring you dinner. And see the babes. May I come in?"

She hesistated for a moment, before stepping aside to let him through. He could tell by the look on her face that she was still trying to work out why he had troubled himself to come up here with a meal for her.

Ned walked and set the tray down on the table under the window, checking the fire and sitting on the bed next to Robb, softly rubbing the little boy's back, who made a sound close to a cat purring at his father's touch. Catelyn stood by them, swaying with Sansa and chewing on her lip.

"Did Jessa send you, my lord?" she began defensively. "I am not sure what she told you, but I am doing well. The children are fine, a bit scared, perhaps, but the storm is loud. I fear Robb might be ill, as well - "

"No one sent me, Cat. Can a husband and father not see to his wife and children?" Ned looked up at her earnestly. She looked so tired, so worn but strong and noble and beautiful just the same. Gods, her determination, her stubbornness - it was challenging and arousing and annoying all at the same time for him.

"Of course, my lord, but..." before she could continue, the clouds outside clapped together, and a huge peal of thunder woke both the children and set them to screaming.

"Oh, gods help me!" Cat cried as she shushed and rocked Sansa, begging the small child to be quiet. Ned gathered Robb, who was crying now, into his arms and swayed back and forth with him on the bed, assuring the toddler that all was well. He spared a glance up at Cat and noticed small tears escaping her, though she said nothing except whispers to Sansa.

The children finally quieted, and Catelyn moved to place Sansa in her crib. Ned lay Robb back on the bed, covering him with a blanket.

Cat moved to sit in the rocking chair by the fire, meekly picking up the mug of ale and catching Ned's eyes over it's brim.

"Thank you, my lord. I am so sorry you have to see me and the children like this, so on edge. I assure you - "

"Cat," he began, before seating himself across from her at the fire. "You are a good mother. I know this."

She looked down at the mug in her hands. She did not lift her face to his, but he could hear her "thank you" nonetheless.

A streak of lightening pealed across the skies and they both looked up out the window, and then back to the children, nervously awaiting the inevitable thunder. But when it hit, neither of the children stirred. Cat sighed back into her chair. The rain pelted at the glass and the stone walls of the castle, making everything seem loud and quiet, all at the same time.

He looked across to Cat, who sat rocking in the chair, eyes cast towards the flames of the fire, pulling a fur to her shoulders. Despite the obvious exhaustion of caring for the two children on her own, and the frustration in getting them to bed tonight; despite the storm that raged outside their windows, and the storms that raged quietly in their young marriage, she was undeniably beautiful. Ned felt he could look on her all night.

He wished he knew the words to tell her so, in a way she would understand and believe and not second-guess.

"Catelyn...do you like thunderstorms? Did you have them at Riverrun like this?" he asked.

She met his eyes with curiousity and just a bit of doubt.

"Not this loud, perhaps. But I did enjoy watching the rain fall on the river...and there were always so many rainbows afterwards. But I have never seen or heard such lightening and thunder until I came to Winterfell."

"Wait!"

"My lord...?"

He stood up suddenly. "There is a place, just a moment away from this room, where as children we would go and watch a good storm. You can see everything from there. I had almost forgotten! Will you come with me?" He reached for her hand, and though he could sense her hesitation at leaving the children for even a moment, her curiosity was piqued and he knew she would follow him.

Feeling like a child again, giddy with excitement, Ned grabbed her cloak and pulled her by the hand outside her chamber door, noticing her last glance at the sleeping children - "It's all right, Cat, we will be back in a moment!" and then sped them both up stairs Cat had never explored.

"This way! Quickly!" Ned cried, and Cat caught on to his enthusiam. In a few moments, he had wound them up to a turret she hadn't even noticed existed. It faced the West, where the sun set, and the final rays of an ending day were casting all colors back towards Westeros, as dark, angry clouds rolled in and spilled their lightening, clapped their thunderous shouts at each other. Bolts of lightening cackled back and forth between the clouds, and she could see the blankets of rain weaving over the land.

"NED!" She yelled in surprise, when a bolt hit what felt rather close to Winterfell. She leapt into his arms, but he just laughed. The rain shifted sideways and started dripping against them in their little hideaway.

"My lady, it shall not hurt you, I swear it. We will be fine. Look at this view!"

He threw her cloak around her shoulders and continued holding her, very aware of the way the rain was soaking through her thin shift, very aware of her breasts pressed up against his chest as he held her, very aware of her warm breath upon his neck from this position.

"I had almost forgotten...this is how we got Lyanna and BenJen over their fear of storms. Father was useless during them - but Brandon and I finally were tired of their crying. We brought them both up here so they could see it all happen, and not just hear the castle rattling. Lyanna loved it, especially. I could always find her here when it rained." Ned smiled at his own memory.

He pulled her closer. "Is it not amazing, Catelyn? To watch how the gods rage at each other over our land."

She pulled back from his embrace to look at him curiously. He never spoke this way. "Yes, my lord. I suppose. You mean to say the gods are fighting, and so the weather turns so in their anger?"

"Well," Ned felt caught, "Old Nan would have us think so, I guess. The gods do what they will. I just know that when I look out at the land, thinking of the people on it, the places I know so well...I feel at home. Even in the storm, Winterfell is where I belong after....after everything that has happened."

Catelyn snuggled closer into his embrace. It felt good, pressed so near to him after so many months...gods...how many? But to be back in his arms seeking the comfort he seemed willing to give. It felt lovely.

Yes, she wanted to be held. Growing up, whenever she thought of getting married and having children, it was always with the idea that her mother would be there to help. That hope was dashed too quickly - had she been nine, ten? She could barely remember at what age she had been suddenly thrust into the role of "Lady Tully of Riverrun." She could barely remember her mother, to be honest. And now, here in Winterfell, a land so cold, so different...a husband she wasn't supposed to have, a man she barely knew, who brings home a bastard to raise beside their natural children...Catelyn wasn't one for self-pity or weakness, but...oh, when she was so, so tired, she felt stretched beyond her capacity, and dangerously close to a breaking point.

She felt Ned press a kiss at her hairline, twice, three times. His hands began rubbing her back and she felt that she could fall asleep standing there, hypnotized by his touch. Suddenly lightening struck and thunder pealed loudly, and she remembered the children.

"Oh, gods, the children!" Before Ned could say anything, she was sprinting back down the stairs. Ned caught up with her as she entered the door, and she sagged against the frame in relief and could not help it when she began to cry when she could see they were both sleeping right where they had left them.

"See, they are fine, Cat." He tried to rub her shoulders in reassurance. She spun around and threw an accusatory finger at him.

"You should not have distracted me! Robb could have woken up and been alone, stumbled into the fire even! They would have been so scared to be alone!"

"Yes, but they didn't. They are both still asleep. We were gone but a moment."

"I cannot believe I left them for even a moment! Anything could have happened!" she hissed, but to herself or to him, he was not sure.

Ned was dumbfounded. Had she not just been in his arms a moment ago? He tried to reach out to her again.

"Cat - I don't understand. They are all right. We won't leave your chambers again - "

Her eyes flashed up at him as she jerked back from his touch. "Why have you come here, anyway? Do you doubt I can care for the children, is that it?"

Ned could see the tears in her tired eyes, and knew she was probably speaking more from exhaustion and her momentary fear from when they had gone up to watch the storm, but he could not understand why she would be directing this anger at him. He felt helpless as his answered,

"No - Catelyn, of course not. I only wanted to see - "

"I did _fine_ while you were off in the war, left alone to raise your heir, praying every night for your safe return, while _you_ ran around with some whore - "

Ned's head snapped and he felt his body grow still. "You forget yourself, Catelyn," he said, his voice like ice.

" _You_ forgot me, well enough, didn't you? If it's just a woman to lay with that you want, take your pick of the whores or even the ladies of Winterfell, Lord Stark. But you will not find her in this room tonight." She spat back. They stared at each other for a moment before a clap of thunder broke the silence and both children began screaming - Robb in her bed and Sansa in her cradle. Catelyn made a sound between a sob and a growl of frustration, head whipping back and forth between her two crying babes, unsure where to go first.

Ned moved to grab her arm. "We will finish this later. Go to Robb. I will calm Sansa." Catelyn eyed him and then moved to the bed, wrapping Robb in her arms and laying on her side next to him, shushing her tired, sick boy.

Ned picked Sansa up from her cradle and sat in the rocking chair by the fire. He hadn't had much chance to hold her in her first months of life, and truth be told, the great responsibility he felt in fatherhood was overwhelming at times. But so was his love for the two beautiful babes he and Catelyn had created. Everytime he held Sansa, he marveled at how tiny and lovely she was. It did not take long to rock Sansa back to sleep. Ned picked up a tiny hand, curling the small fingers around his thumb, amazed how much love he could feel for something so little. 

He wrapped a fur that had warmed next to the fire around her body, and carefully, as not to wake her again, set her back in the cradle.

He walked softly over to the bed, where Robb had fallen back asleep, but Catelyn lay curled around his small body, her arm wrapped protectively around him.

He knelt down next to them and met her eyes over Robb's small form. She had been crying.

"He sleeps," he said, gently, reaching out a hand to wipe at a little drool that escaped from Robb's mouth, where his thumb had been firmly lodged but now lay next to his sweet face.

"And you should return to your bedchambers, or whereever else you might go, if you want to do the same," she returned coldly.

He looked down at Robb and sighed heavily before responding. There were many things he probably needed to talk about with his wife, but at this hour, and the state she was in with the children, he thought it wise to let that conversation wait.

"Catelyn, I came up here tonight because I missed you. Not just at dinner. I wanted to see you and the babes. I _was_ worried, but only for your health and for our children's health. That is all."

"We are fine, Ned - " she tried to cut in, but he was not finished.

"Cat - I would be a good father...and a good husband. But you must let me. I want you to let me."

He looked back up at his wife's eyes, watching as tears now began falling again.

Several moments passed, as she was holding her breath, but she finally choked on a escaping sob and whispered, "I am so sorry...what I said...Gods, I am just so tired! I am so tired of being tired. I am sorry. Please."

He reached out for her hand, squeezed it gently, and they sat for a moment, holding hands over their son, until her tears slowed and she was breathing normally again. She smiled fragily at him as she wiped the tears away with the sheet, chuckling softly at how undignified she must look to her lord husband, crying, hair wet, shift still damp from the rain, struggling to manage two tiny children in a storm.

But instead of getting up and leaving, as she expected him to do, he moved to pull Robb forward just a bit out of Catelyn's arms. He stood up, placed another log on the fire, and then removed his boots and cloak. 

"What are you doing?" Catelyn asked as she watched him.

Ned didn't answer, but climbed into the bed behind Catelyn and turned her gently towards him.

"I will stay here tonight," he whispered, "in case the children wake up again. You are overtired, I know. I would have you sleep."

She looked at him in surprise. "You do not need to. I will be fine," she said, even as she felt herself nestle against his side. She did not resist when he reached for her hand and drew her arm across his chest.

"Of course you will be, Cat. Now sleep."

"But Ned, will you be comfortable? I know it is too warm for you to ever sleep here - "

"Catelyn. Enough. Sleep."

There was a long pause, but "Yes, my lord," she finally replied.

Like their daughter, it did not take long for Catelyn to fall into a deep sleep. Ned took advantage of the hours she spent wrapped next to him, smelling her hair, stroking it as it dried on the pillow next to them, listening to her quiet breathing. He held her hand in his own, thinking how small and dainty it was. He covered her and Robb with furs, leaving himself uncovered. She was right - it was hot for him in this room - but sleep found him at last.

As the sun rose, he extricated himself from her arms and the leg that had thrown itself over his at one point. She stirred, but did not wake. Walking softly, he opened up the bedroom door, then came back to the bed and picked up Robb and placed him in his arms, angling his head onto his shoulder, then gently scooped up the still sleeping Sansa with his other arm. He stifled the urge to call to Cat to have her see him balancing their two children in his arms, oddly proud of himself.

Down the stairs he walked to Jon's room, where his nurse was stitching in the corner, but Jon lay, still sleeping on his bed. With a few words, Ned left Robb in Jon's room, and then went to find Sophie to care for Sansa, before quietly coming back to Cat's room and slipping back in bed with her. He thanked the gods that she lay still sleeping, and hoped she would not be too angry when she woke. He truly thought she needed the sleep more than the children needed to be with her, and he trusted the women he kept in the castle to watch them closely.

The sun rose higher, yet Cat stayed asleep. Jessa came in, as he had asked her to, and quietly deposited a tray of breads, meat and ale to break their fast by the fire, shooting a quick glance at Ned as she left, who tried not to look self-conscious about laying in his own wife's bed.

Finally, Cat began to stir against him, and slowly opened her eyes, noticing her hand was in Ned's on his chest, and his arm pillowed her head.

"Ned?" she asked.

"Were you expecting someone else in your bedchambers, my lady?" he smiled.

"No!" she blushed. "I am just...I am surprised you are still here. Oh, Robb!" she sat up and turned quickly to notice he was gone. "Ned! Where is - "

He sat up next to her and put his hands on her arms before she could fly out of bed. "I have taken both of the children to be with the maids for the morning."

"You did what?!" Cat cried.

"Catelyn - you were so tired. Have you any idea how much you needed to sleep? It is past dawn, and you have not stirred for hours."

"But the children! I must go to them - " she tried to turn away from his grasp.

"They will be fine for just the morning without you. You will be an even better mother when you've had a chance to rest yourself before you get ill. Please."

"You should not have done that without asking me, Ned! Robb is sick! I am their mother!"

"And I am their father who needs his wife to be well." His 'lord's voice' challenged her as he met her eyes. But she looked genuinely worried, and he softened.

"Will you just break your fast with me, and we might talk for a bit, my lady? Then we may go to them. I promise they are in good hands."

She looked over to the breakfast tray and back at Ned, who was looking at her earnestly. She _was_ hungry, and she knew that they must talk about the words she had said in her exhaustion and anger last night. She sighed and nodded her head. Ned smiled and leapt from the bed, quickly drawing the drapes back from the windows, showing the rain that still fell outside, before returning with a loaf of bread and two mugs of breakfast ale.

"We are eating in bed?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged as he handed her the mug and they sat in silence for a few moments, sharing the loaf between them, sipping from their cups and watching the wind and rain outside.

"Ned..." she began softly. "I am truly sorry for what I said, and how I spoke to you last night. It was not my place. I was frightened and tired. Please, forgive me."

Ned put down his mug and turned to Cat. "I know, that is why I wanted you to sleep." He swallowed, "Cat - I know things have been...hard...for different reasons. But I meant what I said - I want to be a good father and a good husband, for the children, and for you."

Cat looked down nervously in her lap for a moment. "I want that, too, my lord," she said in a voice just above a whisper. "And I would be a good mother, and a good wife." Ned could not deny himself a small smile, or the warmth in his heart as he felt tiny cracks breaking down the walls that had been building between them.

When they had finished the loaf of bread, he took her mug from her hands and placed it on the table, drawing her hands back to his, and pulling them up to kiss her knuckles softly. Their eyes met and she shivered, smiling shyly back at him.

"Are you well rested now, my lady?" he asked.

"I confess, I am still a bit tired," she laughed lightly. "Is that terrible?"

He smiled back at her. "No. I admit I did not sleep very well last night. I was holding on to you tightly, afraid you would roll on top of Robb! I kept waking in a panic that the children were waking from the storm, or Robb had rolled off the bed..." 

Cat laughed at his worry. "Welcome to my every night, my lord."

"Cat..." he cocked his head in sympathy. "Come, let us lie back down for just a bit. With all this rain, it feels like it will be a quiet day around the castle. I will not be needed much."

Cat raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was serious, but he was already taking his shirts off - preparing himself for sleeping in the hot room - and scooting back toward the pillows. She crawled toward him tentatively, but he opened his arm and invited her in against his side. She snuggled in gratefully, and they lay in a comfortable silence, watching the rain pelt the windows.

 

He must have dozed off, because he suddenly realized he was waking up, to a pair of soft lips pressing light kisses to his cheek and his neck, and Catelyn's hand caressing his cheek. Gods, it felt good.

He turned his head and met her eyes, leaning forward to meet her lips with his own and bringing his hand up to thread his fingers in her hair. She pulled back slightly and propped herself up on her elbow to look down at him.

"Thank you for being here," she said simply.

He nodded, moving his hand from her hair to her shoulder, tracing her arm up to where her hand lay on his cheek and then down again, trailing it along her side and up again, creating a soothing pattern. She pressed into his chest warmly, and he had to concentrate to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head when he felt her breasts against him as she leaned in to kiss him again, with more confidence this time.

Her hand moved around to the back of his head as they deepened their kiss, and he could feel her thumb tracing the shell of his ear, which for some reason felt incredibly good. He moved his own hand lower, grasping at her hip and pulling her more on top of him so she could feel his arousal, pulling away from her kiss to gasp for air when he felt her weight against him as she slipped her leg in between his and instinctively rolled her hips. One of his hands pressed her firmly on top of him and the other reached to draw her head and mouth back to his, relishing the contact of her tongue against his own. She broke away from the kiss to breathe and he groaned against her neck, placing open kisses against her perfect, soft skin. It had been so long and it all felt so good - she was so soft and beautiful and willing in his arms as she hadn't been in so long. Her breath quickened and she whimpered at his touch. He was worried he might finish before they even really began.

"Ned," she said suddenly, and he grunted against her neck, continuing his pull on her hair and his kisses on her skin. "Ned!" she said again, pulling back to look at him, and he forced himself to focus on her face.

"What I said last night - I do not want - I would not have you visit other women in Winterfell, if you prefer to come here, my lord. It has been enough time since Sansa was born, and I - "

He cut her off quickly by grabbing her body to his and flipping them over so he was on top of her, his grey eyes gone dark with arousal, staring fully into her surprised blue ones. "Catelyn - I do not _visit_ other women, here or elsewhere." He shifted so he was between her legs, pulling one up around to his hips and pressing into her until she gasped.

"But I know it has been so long, and men have needs - " he pressed into her again until she moaned, her hands flying to his back to hold him against her.

"I have waited for you, Cat." 

She looked up at her husband, who despite being very obviously aroused and wanting her body and not her conversation right now, somehow knew she needed to hear that before they kept on. A nagging voice in the back of her mind almost wanted to question him about Jon, but she knew this was not the time or place, and that if they were to have a true, happy marriage, she must find it in herself to forgive him for that, move on, and take what he offered her now.

"Have you, Ned?" was all she allowed herself to say.

"My sword practice has much improved, and I have drank with every man in Winterfell, and even read books. But yes, I have waited." he returned.

At that, Catelyn could not help a huge grin breaking over her face and a laugh that escaped her lips. The knowledge that after her bitter words last night, her husband could still want her, could be patient, understand what she needed, spoke volumes to her. She felt better than she had since she could remember. She felt hopeful. She felt him against her, heavy with need. And she felt lust.

Ned grinned back down at her and kissed her exposed neck, along her collarbone, moving against her until her laughter turned to a moan.

"Oh, gods," she said, as she felt his hand creep up her leg, pushing her shift out the way to caress her thigh. Ned sat up and stood to remove the rest of his clothing, glancing back at Catelyn, who watched him with obvious interest, rubbing her legs against each other on the bed, but making no move to undress.

"Catelyn, your shift."

"Oh," she said, suddenly embarassed. "I am not sure that is necessary." 

Ned shook his head. "It most definitely is."

"But, Ned, you have not seen me in a long time...carrying babes changes a woman's body."

"Catelyn. Please. Now."

She bit her lip, internally debating between self-consciousness at the scars and still-recovering skin from Sansa's birth, and the way she was so turned on by the command in his voice, the sight of his naked body in her chambers. She looked up at her husband who was settling back in bed beside her, eyes filled with lust as they scanned her body through her gown, and she finally reached for the hem and drew the shift up and away in one pull. She looked back at Ned for his reaction, but his mouth was already on her nipples, arm around her waist and she could feel his cock against her thighs, so close to where she truly wanted it. Her hands went to his hair and she moaned as he licked her breasts, so sensitive from nursing and from her arousal.

The feel of his hot skin against her own, with nothing more between them, was incredible. Through her own sounds of enjoyment, she could somewhat hear Ned mumbling things against her ribs and her breasts as he cupped them and kissed them, her legs moving against his of their own accord, heels digging into the sheets as she felt desire rising within her. She heard Ned mumble again.

"Wh-what?" she asked breathlessly.

"So" "beautiful" "so" "soft" he managed between kisses, moving lower, kissing her stomach, gripping her hipbones and locking eyes with her as he kissed the marks left by carrying their children. She forced herself to not look away, as his mouth traveled lower, his hands pinning her on the bed as he kissed her hip bones, the crease where her thigh met her torso, surprising them both as he dipped his nose to smell her curls. Her leg rose instinctively, and Ned smoothed his hand down her ass and then up the back of her thigh before grabbing her knee and placing her leg over his shoulder as he scooted himself back a bit more on the bed. She looked at him, uncertain what he was about to do, but very certain she needed to feel him touch her. He saw the question on her face, and asked shyly, "may I kiss you here, Cat?" She nodded breathlessly, unsure what it would feel like - if he was supposed to like it or if she was.

He kissed her inner thighs gently, and pulled her other leg over his shoulder. Cat felt her anticipation rising, her breaths shallow pants as he centered himself over her sex. Suddenly she felt very self-conscious and was about to ask him to stop whatever he might be starting to do and join her higher on the bed. But then he moved his mouth closer and she felt his tongue on the most sensitive part of her body - a place he had explored with his hands with limited success in the time they had spent in her bedchambers together. But now, with the emotional walls crumbling between them, perhaps she finally felt open to the pleasure he was now giving her with his mouth. It felt incredible.

He kissed, he licked, he sucked gently, her legs thrown over his shoulders and his hands keeping her hips from rising too far away from him mouth. He pulled back to breath on her, teasing her, kissing her thighs again before spearing his tongue to her center. Cat couldn't help the sounds that were escaping her, couldn't help running her fingers through his hair, pulling it as he brought an arm back around to place his hand on her inner thigh and spread her legs even farther apart. She arched her back on the bed, feeling her nipples tighten and an ache coiling deep within her.

"Oh gods, Ned," she moaned as he swirled his tongue around and she felt his fingers stroking the inside of her thigh, and then coming up to replace his mouth on her center. He shifted around but kept the rhthym with his fingers as he pulled himself up to lay beside her, his mouth hot on her neck as her arms flew around him, then drawing him in to kiss her. His mouth and cheeks were wet with her arousal, and she went to wipe it with her hands in embarassment, muttering "oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he answered. "You are so beautiful. I have wanted to do that."

But she couldn't answer because a sudden feeling of intense pleasure was stealing her focus as his fingers continued circling around her sex. Her hand gripped his shoulder, her leg threw itself over his as she came closer and closer to the edge of something she couldn't name. She felt his cock pressed against her thigh, his lips on her neck again, whispering to her, encouraging her. Suddenly he was rolling on top of her and she moaned in frustration at the absence of his hand, but then she was groaning in pleasure as he slowly sank into her, his forehead resting on her shoulder, his weight a delicious warmth holding her down on the bed, and her hips rising instinctively to meet him, to invite him in.

She was so wet and ready for him, Ned bit his lip to keep from spending in her right away. He hoped she was close to her own pleasure, because he knew that this would not last long as he began moving slowly in and out, her breath hot on his ear, her legs locked around him, their bodies slick with sweat. He could feel her body tensing beneath him, he wanted this to be so good for her, wanted to convince her that he wanted her, only her. He met her mouth with his, humming with pleasure against her lips, finally breaking away to catch his breath and press hot kisses into her ear and hair. Her fingers were digging into his ass, encouraging him, driving him towards his own finish, and he heard her moaning grow louder.

Suddenly her moaning changed to his name "Ned - oh gods, Ned!" and he felt her hips buck up against his own as she reached her release, her nails dragging downward, pulling him impossible closer against her, and that was his undoing as he arched up, finished with a few uncoordinated thrusts, then shuddering into her arms, whispering her name against her neck.

"Oh, Cat. You are so beautiful. Cat, Cat..."

 

*            *             *             *            *

As he thought back to that night, it had been a night of beginnings - their first fight, their first time together in the morning, his first time kissing Cat's body in that way, the first time they had both reached their passion with each other's names on their lips. It marked a turn in their relationship, as he started coming to her bedchambers more often, and seeking her during the day just to see how she and the children were. She smiled more, reaching for his hand because she felt like it.

And a few weeks later, when she came to his bedchambers at night, asking him to follow her back to hers, they had made love with passion and tenderness, and when they finished, she told him that she was certain she was with child again. He had laughed and held her and they had made love again, holding each other until they fell asleep. And then Ned never slept in his own chambers again. A few moons later, they had their Arya, who was as passionate and fierce as the storm she had been conceived in.

 

Ned was lost in his memories, barely registering his children had continued to tell stories - Robb something about being caught stealing from the kitchens, now Arya doing impressions of Septa trying not to explode with anger at her and Sansa's fighting. He smiled at their brood of children, laughing with each other, talking to their Mother as if she could hear them, but just wasn't responding. They were so lovely together when they wanted to be. They hadn't even noticed he wasn't partaking in their japes.

He looked at the Maester and Jessa, who had finished their duties with Catelyn but had settled into chairs to hear the children, adding their own observations, laughing along with them. He looked outside and could see the sky, the sun shining over Winterfell. There was so much to be thankful for in his life, but he felt it would all mean nothing without her. He picked up her hand again, staring intently at her face, willing her to open her eyes and join in their stories.

_Oh, Cat. You would be so proud of how strong they are. Wake, my love. Wake today, wake tomorrow, but do not make me wait long. I miss you._


	14. Chapter 14

Days later.....

 

 

Lost in his prayers, Ned barely noticed his young son creep into the room to stand beside where he sat at Catelyn's bedside.

"Father...today...perhaps today she will wake?" Bran, who was always wiser beyond his years, today seemed so sad as he leaned into his father. "It has been four days. It makes me scared," he said.

Ned thought for a moment before responding. "Bran - do you think there is anything in this world, even beyond this world, that could stop your mother from coming back to you if she could?" Ned asked.

"No. Mother would fight so very hard."

"Exactly. She fights now. Look - she looks so much better than the very first day, doesn't she?" 

Bran nodded. Ned drew him into his arms. The others had not come up from the Great Hall yet, and this was a rare moment with his young son. Winter was coming, Bran was growing up into a young man, but right now Ned understood Bran needed the assurance and the comfort his mother always gave him. He would give it. Ned even thought that he needed it, himself. He needed to hold someone close.

"I promise you, Bran. Your mother loves you all too much to stay sleeping for long. You have been so brave. We are both proud of you." 

Bran allowed himself a solid hug from his father, before pulling away as he heard his siblings coming through the door. He could already hear Arya beginning the story she would tell to Mother and Father - something about being caught wearing Robb's armor into the stables and trying to secure a horse before the septa and her mother discovered her missing from her lessons.

Bran realized then that he looked forward to hearing her story. As strange as it had seemed in the beginning, a few days ago, to talk to Mother as if she could hear them and the stories they were telling, while she lay clearly unconscious to it all, the story-telling had brought a sort of comfort to Bran and his siblings. It was so rare that they were able to sit around as a family and tease each other. He liked hearing the stories they each had to tell about mother. But Bran could admit to himself it felt a bit strange without Jon...he knew Mother would not like Jon there, but it was sad to leave Jon at every mealtime to go and spend hours with his mother and his siblings, knowing Jon was somewhere alone, and had never even had a moment with his _own_ mother. 

How terribly sad for Jon, he thought. Never with his own mother...

Bran paused - he had never thought about who exactly Jon's mother would be. Or what it meant that his father - the greatest man in all the world - had had a bastard, shaming his mother - whom Father seemed to love very much. Bran knew Mother was the most beautiful and clever and kindest woman in all the world. What would have caused his father to do that?

What could this all mean?

 

It sounded very complicated to be a grown-up.

 

*          *            *           *            * 

 

She could recognize that at the very least, the horse had stopped. No - it was more than that. This wasn't hard ground she was laying on - this was soft, almost warm, and there were heavy covers on her feet like she liked. Was this her own bed? She was in bed?

 _Gods be good_ \- Catelyn thought. When the horse had begun dragging her over the rocks and stumps, she had screamed and was certain she was to die. But no - she could feel she was alive and safe in what was most likely her own bed.

The voices around her...it was as if they were speaking underwater - it so difficult to understand. She thought she recognized them, but could not be sure...they were so low...but there was also laughter. It reminded her of her childhood at Rivverrun - swimming with Lysa and Petyr, Edmure stamping his feet in the tiny waves at the shore until she would bring him out to deeper waters, showing him how to blow bubbles and float on his back, eyes to the sun. And she and Lysa would take turns telling "secrets" underwater, laughing at each other and trying to guess what the other said when they resurfaced. Petyr would always get jealous of their secret language - pinching at Catelyn's bare legs, pouting in the godswoods until she coaxed him out.

Mmm she missed the heat of the sun, the feel of only water against her skin, grass beneath her as they dried themselves on the riverbanks, making pictures with the clouds in the sky...but at the moment, she felt a growing awareness of being warm. And very, very sore. It pulled her back to the present.

She could feel her chest rise and fall, but it was as if she couldn't get a deep breath. Catelyn felt the weight of what must be every fur in Winterfell atop her body, and the heat of a fire licking heat waves across her face. Almost as warm as the sun at Riverrun...

The voices had stopped, growing fainter as they seemed to move away from her. She was almost certain now that they had belonged to her children.

Where were they going? Are they leaving? She must wake up before they leave her; she needed _someone_ to stay with her.

Suddenly she was very afraid to be alone in this pain. She knew she must concentrate and pull through it – but as she moved to open her eyes and call to them, it felt like she came up against a wall that forcefully blocked her. The pain of it took her breath away, but Catelyn began to be more aware of her body. She thought that was a good sign. She wanted to open her eyes and call to them to come back, but everything seemed to hurt, seemed to throb. _That damn horse...I am sure to have broken something...oh gods..._

But then she was distracted by noticing her feet were suddenly cold - the blankets thrown back, but then - someone was touching them tenderly - almost rubbing them. Now she felt lips against her anklebones. Oh, it tickled, but felt delicious all the same. All other pain faded away. Ned. It could only be Ned.

She was so relieved that she was not alone. Of course he was with her. His hands and lips felt so tender against her skin. She wanted to turn her head and smile at him. He must be looking at her to do so in reaction to his peculiar habit which she always found so amusing. Why would a man love a woman's feet? He hardly seemed to know why himself. It was like a private joke of theirs. He would often come to her in her bedchambers at night, finding her sitting by the fire, having a few moments of peace from the children. And he would sit beneath her, remove her slippers and stockings, and massage her feet and calves, always kissing her anklebones. It had made Cat self-conscious in the beginning, but now she loved it. It was one of the small ways Ned showed her he loved her. 

She wanted to look at him, but when she tried, she could not. She could not make her eyes open, she could not find him. A tiny noise of frustration escaped her.

"Cat?"

Now she could hear his voice, more clearly than the other underwater voices earlier. She wanted to see him. Why did everything hurt so?

"Cat! Catelyn - can you hear me?"

"Yes. Ned..." oh, but her throat felt like sand. She choked around his name. She tried to raise her arm to touch her throat.

"Oh, my love! Cat - please, stop moving around so much - your arm - I don't want you to bleed!"

She stilled. _Gods - what had happened after I fell from the horse?_ Catelyn took stock of her body - she noticed one arm seemed pinned to her side by bandages, and she could register something on her forehead. She felt incredibly weak and ached with thirst. To open her eyes or to speak seemed like the hardest thing in the world...it would be easier to go back to sleep...this was too painful to face at the moment...she could not bear it if...

"Catelyn, please, wake for me, love." His hand was on her good arm and her forehead now, smoothing her hair.

She can feel her eyebrows trying to stretch so that her eyelids might ease open. She needed to see Ned, needed to talk to Ned.

"That's it, Cat. Look at me. Oh, gods, where is Luwin? Did Jessa leave? Jessa!" he barked quickly, but she felt that he then turned back to her and began to speak tenderly again. "Cat - I'm here, love - can you look at me? I know you are in pain..."

His voice was so soft and desperate that Catelyn pushed away at all the hurt and achingly slow managed to open her eyes. Ned's anxious face was hovering over hers, and when his grey eyes connected with her blue ones, as she slowly focused on his face, he broke into a huge grin, even as tears escaped his eyes. She smiled back weakly, swallowing away her pain.

"Gods be good! Oh, my love. You are awake! You have no idea - I have been beside myself - " his hands found her face, his lips found hers, "oh, I have missed you, Cat. Here, can you drink something? It will help."

"Mmmm" she managed, and he held up a cup to her lips, and she was able to swallow a few sips before he gently set her back down on the pillow. The liquid felt like heaven in her throat. Oh, it felt so good to drink something. She hummed, testing her throat, before she asked - 

"Ned, what happened?"

"It was your bloody horse - bucked you and then dragged you on the ground. Gods - you could have been killed! Luwin says we are lucky - he had to set your arm, so it's against your side like that. And there was some bleeding - your arms, legs, your head. It was so - and there have been shaking spells." Ned's eyes seemed far away, feeling too well the despair that he felt. But then he remembered himself, and pulled his focus back to Cat's face. "Oh, I am so sorry, my love. You must be in so much pain. Gods - I could strangle that horse!"

"That would solve nothing, Ned." But she had to stifle a smile. "How long...?"

"Four days."

Catelyn was shocked. She could only remember the horse reacting, her falling to the ground, and being violently dragged along it for what felt like forever. Four days missing from her life? "Truly?" she croaked.

"Yes. Each one has felt like a year. I cannot tell you what it feels to look into your eyes again - I have been so scared - " Ned had to stop speaking. He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed them against it, his eyes closed to prevent tears from falling. All these years together, she had never seen him cry. But now she could feel him trembling with emotion.

"My poor husband..." she whispered.

"My beautiful wife, finally come back to me," he whispered back. He drew a deep breath and looked into her eyes intently.

She could see his pain from the last few days. Despite the physical hurts she could start to feel with increasing awareness, at least she had managed to sleep through most of it. But four days of worry - looking over a body locked in sleep - she knew what that would do to her. He looked thin and so very tired.

"Oh, Ned. This feels so...just not real..." she tried to move her hand to cup his cheek, but he had to help her with his own to hold it there, for her arm shook from the effort. "I am so sorry. I cannot believe I have been asleep for four days. You must have suffered, my love. I can only imagine how I would feel if it had been you or one of the children." She coughed softly, and Ned brought a cup of tea over to her lips for her to drink.

"The children have been incredibly brave. They have slept outside the door every night, despite me telling them to go to their rooms each night. You should see them - all piled together like a pack of wolf-pups. They missed you terribly." She smiled at that.

"My sweet darlings!" She motioned for more water to drink. "Bring them in Ned, I want to see them. Four days, gods be good. They must be so upset. But - where did you sleep, Ned?"

He looked at her for a moment, unsure what to say. Catelyn shook her head, and then winced at the pain that brought, as he held another cup to her lips.

"Careful, Cat! I will bring them in, my love. They will be thrilled. But just - can we - can I...?" Ned looked at her apprehensively.

"Yes...?" her unasked question hung in the air until Ned stood quickly, pulled off his boots, and then lay down next to her in the bed, gathering her in his arms as gently as he could, pressing kisses into her hair and raining them onto her face, seemingly unable to stop himself.

"Ned...Ned!" she whispered, trying as hard as she could to hold him, but her arms would not cooperate. Finally he pulled back to look at her. There were tears in his eyes.

"Ned, my love... I am here, I am awake. It is all right, my love. Please," Cat whispered, finally able to cup his cheek in her hands. Her eyes were brimming with tears; partly from pain at movement and partly from feeling for her husband, whom she had never seen so emotionally distressed.

He leaned his forehead against hers and Catelyn heard his breathing slow, at the same time as she felt drops of what must be his tears on her neck and shoulders. She was incredibly uncomfortable; the pain made her bite her lip to keep from crying out, but it was not unbearable, and she did not have the heart to tell him or ask him to move at all, lest she hurt his feelings or break this moment he seemed intent on having with her. 

"Ned..." she said, uncertainly. "What is it, my love?"

"Cat," he replied hoarsely. "Those were the worst four days of my life, I cannot - " he stopped to draw breath. "Mayhaps now I understand what it is like for women to wait for their men to return from battle...I felt I would have done anything to bring you back to me. Gone anywhere, dueled anyone, offered anything..." she brought a shaking hand up to his mouth to quiet him.

"Oh, love. When you ride off to battle, you take my heart _with_ you. I feel nothing but dread and anxiety until you return. I would not wish that on you. On my worst enemy, even." He grunted in response. "Oh, Ned, you're crying," she said tenderly, reaching up to wipe the moisture from his eyes.

"Stark men do not cry," he replied, a bitter smile on his face.

"Tully women do not mind," she smiled. He was holding his breath, but he managed a smile.

Their lips met briefly, and he pulled back to stroke her cheek and look into her eyes.

"You are _**not**_ to ride a horse another day in your life, do you understand? You shall be escorted in a carriage, or pulled by sleigh, or carried in a litter," he said.

Catelyn coughed at what would have been a laugh.

"I am sure, my lord."

"Nor are you to leave Winterfell - better yet, no leaving my castle. No - this _room_. You shall remain here. I will visit you daily, the children as well. You will have no cause to leave my sight. Have I made myself clear?" he added in his lord's voice. But Catelyn could hear a hint of humour that meshed with the genuine worry in his tone. She tamped down the Tully in her that wanted to argue for her well-being and independence.

She had never seen Ned like this, so worried for her, so affectionate - not even in childbirth. He must have been so worried. What must she have looked like or done as she lay there? They could talk about it later.

"Indeed, my love. Anything you say." She let him press a kiss to her. "Now, please, give me some more water, help me sit up, and send for the children, I would not have them worry a moment longer." She gazed up at him, eyes full of love.

Ned was not ready to let her go. But she was a mother above all else, and he knew her children needed her. He pushed his own selfish desires aside for the moment, and only allowed himself to say, "I love you, Catelyn."

"I know, husband. My love."

He pressed her knuckles to his lips once more before rising from the bed and putting on his boots to walk to the Great Hall and summon the children.

Catelyn leaned up against the pillows. Everything hurt tremendously, as brave as she had tried to be before Ned. She must see the maester to know exactly how hurt she was. Her arm felt like a massive pile of jelly bound together by linen, that jolted with pain when she tried to move it. She could either feel or see every bandage on her body, holding the blood back from spilling. It cost incredible effort to keep her eyelids open - she could sleep for days more, she felt. If her condition had driven Ned to such emotions, how must her poor children be?

 _Gods, help us all,_ she prayed. _Gods, thank you for bringing me back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. i let her wake up. :) I had SO many ideas about how to torture her/us with her coming out of the coma thing, but in the end, I couldn't stand it any longer! what do you think?


	15. Chapter 15

Ned thought about walking to the Great Hall to gather the children, but then realized he didn’t want to leave her side for even a moment. So he simply opened her door, stood outside it and yelled names until Robb finally came running up the stairs.

 “What is it, Father?”

The look on Robb’s face when Ned shared the news was priceless, and was soon replicated on the other four children, who tumbled into Catelyn’s chambers full of joy. Ned hollered at them to keep back from her bedside, lest they smother her or reopen a wound, but Catelyn had laughed a hoarse laugh and shaken her head at her husband, claiming she would draw strength from their happiness. Ned pulled Rickon and Arya off the bed all the same, sitting them firmly on the floor and in chairs.

“Oh, Mother, it is so good to see you smiling again! You were asleep for ages and ages and we were so worried!” said Sansa.

“Yes, but we were also very brave and we were very strong. Just ask Father,” chimed in Bran.

“Of course you were, you are Starks of the North. Very brave indeed,” Catelyn smiled. “I am sorry I was asleep for so long. I must have missed so much!”

“Well, we did get to sleep all together in the hallway. That was nice. I hope we can do it again,” Sansa smiled at her mother and father with a face that reminded Catelyn of when she would ask for a new doll as a young girl, even when she thought her parents might say no, but determined to charm them into the idea.

“But you haven’t missed too much, really. We never wanted to leave you until you were better, so we just stayed here with you as much as we could." Arya smiled at her mother, just a little shyly. "Well, you did miss all the stories,” she added.

“Stories?” Catelyn cocked her head and raised an eyebrow to Ned.

“Arya’s and Robb’s were the funnest,” added Rickon.

"That isn't even a word, Rickon!" Arya corrected.

“Yes, wonderful stories! They were so funny. It really is a shame you missed them all,” Bran said.

“Who was telling these stories and why?” asked Catelyn.

“We all did. Even Father. It was his idea. He said you would draw strength from our voices and our memories of you, even as you slept,” Robb explained.

“It was your father’s idea?” Catelyn asked, pointedly at Ned, with a look that held a lot of amusement.

“No, it was Maester Luwin’s idea. And it was mostly the children telling stories,” Ned said gruffly in a shade of embarrassment.

“No, you told lovely stories, Father! I heard a little bit of one once when just you were in the room!” Sansa cried. Ned looked at her curiously. “You didn’t know I was here,” she explained, “but you were laying right there next to her in bed, and telling Mother about how you built her the sept, and how worried you had been to get it right, but then when she was so pleased, you only wished you had built it sooner to see the smile on her face.”

Now Ned was truly embarrassed, knowing that besides the story of building the sept, he had told a number of stories that were either unsuitable for children entirely or ones he didn’t want his children to hear, for fear of undermining their respect for him. “Sansa!” he tried to keep his voice calm, free of discomfiture and failing.  “You should have knocked on the door.”

“Ned!” Catelyn was looking at him with an incredibly loving expression on her face. “She meant no harm, love.”

“I am sorry, Father,” Sansa bowed her head to Ned as a blush crept over her contrite expression.

Catelyn reached for his hand and grasped it tenderly. “But, Ned, I have never heard that story, my lord. Not your side of it, anyway.”

“Yes, well…”

“Lady Catelyn! Gods be good!” Jessa swept into the room, followed by Maester Luwin. Ned stood up, thanking the gods for his means of escape, and backed to the fire, letting Jessa and the Maester come closer to his wife. Jessa knelt at Catelyn’s beside, kissing her hand and holding it in her own. “It has never been so good to see you, m’lady. I have prayed every moment for your recovery. The whole castle will be rejoicing to know you’re awake!”

“Thank you, Jessa. I am so sorry to have worried you all. You don’t look as if you’ve slept well at all, poor dear. Will you help me with some water?” Jessa smiled through her brimming tears at her beloved lady as she raised a cup to her lips.

“Indeed, we have been worried. Your husband most of all. I don’t think he left your side these four days. You will have to pardon his general look and smell,” Maester teased, holding his hands together in front of him and standing over Catelyn’s bedside behind Jessa as she knelt.

Catelyn and Ned connected eyes over the people between them. He was looking at her so intently, as if he thought she might vanish or slip away into endless sleep again. They stayed locked as the Maester continued,

“Worried, yes, but we never gave up hope. Did we, children?”

“No, Maester. “ “I always knew she would wake up.” “Father said so.” They chorused.

“Children – I know you do not want to leave your mother just as she’s awake at last, but I am worried you will tire her out.”

That snapped Catelyn back to the present - “No, Maester, truly, I want them here,” she started to voice a protest.

“Lady Catelyn, I know you do,” the kind Maester answered. “But I must insist. Jessa and I need to check your wounds, and now that you are awake, I need to examine your arm again so you can tell me what movements may hurt you, and we can determine proper treatment. And you do need your rest, my lady. We will bring them back shortly, after you’ve had a few minutes to sleep.”

“But Maester, they have been so worried –“ she tried again, looking over her little wolfpack.

“Catelyn,” Ned warned as he cut in. The children looked back and forth between their parents.

Robb took the initiative.

“It’s alright, we will go outside for a bit. Mother needs her rest. Someone will let us know when we can see her again?” Robb asked.

“Of course, Robb. Thank you,” Ned nodded in approval at his son, and after each child either kissed or was kissed by their mother, Arya clinging to her longer than normal, Ned walked them to the door. As the children filed out, after receiving promises from their father that he would call to them as soon as they could return, Ned let his heart feel lighter for the first time since he saw that rider approaching his party outside of Winterfell, bringing news of Catelyn's fall.

But as he went to close the door behind his children, he caught eyes with a face that mirrored his own.

Jon was standing in the hallway, arms folded around himself. Ned started, realizing he had not thought much about Jon in the last few days, except to ask Robb to let him know if Jon was needing anything, and promising to check in on him. Which he had not. Ned peeked back into the room at Catelyn, who was being attended to by Maester Luwin. Ned could hear the good maester detailing her injuries, and saw the look of shock on Catelyn’s face. Jessa was stroking her hand and murmuring to her. Ned wanted to be at her side, but knew he needed to see to Jon.

He closed the door behind him, and moved to speak to Jon, but feeling caught someplace he should not be, Jon had started to run downstairs after the other children when he realized Ned was coming to speak to him.

“Jon!” Ned called out after him, but Jon kept running, even as the other children turned their heads back to their father.

“Jon! Stop!” he called again. And this time Jon did stop on the stairs, and stood still as he waited for Ned to catch up.

“Jon, I am sorry, that I have been absent these four days. I do not forget how you were there with the children when this first happened. I have been…caught up with Lady Catelyn and I regret I have not been to see you, but I felt –“

“I am glad to hear that Lady Stark is awake, my lord.”

Jon’s formal tone and addresses caught in Ned’s mind.

“The whole castle rejoices that she lives. My brothers and sisters are so happy to see their mother awake again,” Jon continued.

“Yes, of course.” Ned nodded. He had a terrible feeling about where this conversation was headed.

Jon turned his face to look at the man he had called his father his whole life. Ned could see he had been crying recently, and had an almost defeated look about him.

“I wonder if I might ever know that feeling, Father. The joy of knowing my mother is alive. The joy of knowing anything at all about the woman who gave me life.”

“Jon-“

“Will you _ever_ tell me? Will I ever know who I am? Will I ever feel like I belong somewhere?” Jon’s eyes looked desperately into Ned’s. He placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, and could feel the tension rippling off of him. This must have been a hard four days for him, as well, but in a completely different context that Ned had not even considered. He felt guilty, and wanted to say the right words, but hated not being sure what to say. There was so much he could not tell Jon at the moment. Perhaps never. _Gods help me…_

Ned looked at Jon clearly before speaking, “You are my blood, you belong here at Winterfell, I cannot – “ 

“You know, Father, I have laid abed these last few nights, knowing my brothers and sisters to be sleeping all together outside their mother’s bed chambers, where I was not wanted. I have comforted Arya when she was in distress, seen my siblings a few times at meals, but have mostly just wandered the castle alone, wondering what purpose I have in this world at all. I am a bastard – I am nothing in the eyes of your lady wife, or the people of Winterfell, who look at me with pity. You call me your son, but then forget I exist for four days. I am nothing.”

“Jon! You must not say these things! You know these are untrue!”

“Who was my mother? You loved her enough to bring me here, to shame your wife and dishonor your name, but do not love me enough to tell me anything about her? Will I never know a mother’s love?” Jon’s voice was rising as he shook in frustration.  “Do I have a living mother – one who would love me, who would have joy to know me? Who I would make proud? I certainly do not feel anything from your lady, who clearly despises me and wishes I were never born, I am sure,” Jon spat out, tears brimming in his eyes.

“Jon!” Ned growled. “You are hurting, I know, but watch your words. I will not have you say such things.”

“I only speak the truth.” Jon pulled away from Ned’s hands and sagged against the wall in defeat. “I wish you would do the same, Father.” 

Ned took a step back and a deep breath before speaking. “Jon…I know we must talk, but…I can not talk about this with you at the moment. I must return to Lady Cat- to my wife. It is not the right time.”

“No. It never is, is it?” Jon answered, bitterly. He looked up once more at Ned and shook his head, almost in disgust, before turning and taking the stairs down as fast as he could.

 

Ned dragged a hand across his cheek and jaw. He had not anticipated such a conversation with Jon at this moment, but surmised he deserved most, if not all of Jon’s anger.

It must have been a truly difficult few days for Jon. Ned had not really thought about that at all – to see the children desperate for their mother, huddled around each other at night, snuggled around each other during the day to tell stories in her bed chambers… and poor Jon, an outsider to it all. Ned’s heart ached for him, but he felt he must return to Catelyn. And before he ever spoke to Jon, he knew he must reveal the whole story to his wife. How she would react, he could not say. But she had just woken up from this accident…when would the time be right?

Ned shook his head wryly at his own thoughts – for nearly two decades now, he had asked himself the same question – when would the time be right to tell his wife she’d been living with a huge lie for nigh sixteen years? His dear wife, who held Family, Duty, Honor above all else, to an extent that he had never seen from man or woman in all of Westeros?

At the very least, might she not be glad to know that there had never been another woman? That this phantom lady or whore she might have been angry with all these years had never existed?

Ned often held out hope on that notion, but when he was honest with himself, he knew Catelyn would be more upset that he had lied to her for so long. The state of their marriage was such that he knew she could forgive him laying with another woman in the early days of their marriage, but not such a long period of deception that not only meant he would lie to her, but that she would be looked upon with pity by all in the realm. Mayhaps knowing she had been and would always be his only true love would be a small comfort, however…he feared that everything else that they had built their lives upon together might crumble with this revelation.

Whatever he would say to her, it suddenly was clear he would need to say it soon, as Jon was clearly in a state of distress and desperation. But he would not risk her fragile state. He must think clearly about this…try to find the right words to say. Speaking about emotions or shortcomings had certainly never been his strongpoint….Catelyn had somehow found a way to penetrate his fumblings and uncertainties to truly understand what he meant…he could only hope that she would be able to do that whenever he finally stood up to the lie that had built walls between them for so many years.

Not even two hours had gone by since Catelyn had opened her eyes, and yet his world had been rocked again by this encounter with Jon. Speaking with Jon reminded Ned that he had neglected his men and castle for four days, as well, and they had just returned from dealing with Northern skirmishes and a brief visit to the surrounding areas of Winterfell. There must be a huge pile of messages and requests in his solar for him to deal with as soon as he was able, and any number of meetings he needs organize and lead for the good of his people.

As he turned and began walking slowly up the stairs back to his wife’s bedchambers, his mind’s eye wandered to a dream or vision, that he had had for the last few years, but could never admit to anyone, not even to Cat.

It was an image of he and Catelyn living in a simple home, not necessarily near Winterfell, just anywhere. He and the boys would work the land, and when the sun was dying over the west, walk back towards their little cottage. Cat would be waiting, hair down, barefoot, a babe on her hip and one holding her hand, searching for their silhouettes along the horizon, and smiling when she saw them. They were not “Lord” or “Lady” of anything – but they had their family and they were so, so happy. Their lives were full of their children, their small plot of land, and each other. They ate as a family every meal; food they grown and prepared themselves. They sat as a family around a dying fire every night, telling stories about the day and spinning yarns to pass the time. Their days were spent doing all that needs be done to survive, and their nights were spent trying to shush each other to not wake the children as they found pleasure in the dark on a straw mattress that barely fit the two of them, falling asleep whispering against the pillows, and waking as dawn stretched into the doorway and windows.

Ned had no idea where he had dreamt up this idea, nor did he understand what it meant. But he thought it might mean that despite being married for the honor of their houses, and despite being forced into that marriage because of circumstances in the realm beyond their control, that he and Cat were meant to be happy together.

Or, he thought with a grim smile, maybe it meant that he would rather not be a lord at all. But as long as he had Catelyn and the children, he would be content. To have his family together would be more than enough.

He had to believe that no matter what might happen to them in the days to come, with her recovery, with his admission to the truth of their lives, that they would still find that happiness together in the end.

He walked up the stairs, and opened the door to her bedchambers.


	16. Chapter 16

He waited silently, listening, until the Maester and Jessa had finished looking over Catelyn before making his presence known, walking into Catelyn's line of sight.

"Ned," Catelyn called to him softly, and he heard the exhaustion in her voice.

Maester Luwin turned to face Ned as he approached Catelyn's bedside. "My lord, we are finished here for the moment, I think. She looks well, but quite tired, as to be expected. Thank the gods your lady wife is a strong and healthy woman - I expect a full recovery in a few weeks, though a bit longer on that arm. I thought you might want to see to your men or your children, or have other business. So I think that Jessa will stay here to watch over Lady Stark, while I will return to my chambers to respond to some ravens for a while - "

"No, I thank you, but Jessa may leave. She has barely slept, and needs her rest," Ned directed, more than suggested, as he reached for Catelyn's hand and took his place in the chair next to her bed. "I will stay here."

"But, my lord, I do not think you have slept at all, and I am happy to attend to my lady! Please, whatever she may need, whatever you may need." Jessa smiled at Catelyn as she brushed her hair back from her forehead. Ned thought, not for the first time, how truly special his lady was - all that knew her loved her with a deep devotion, even the woman who braided her hair, washed her linens, and emptied her chamber pot. "I am just so happy to see you awake, Lady Catelyn," Jessa's voice shook with emotion.

 "Oh, Jessa," Catelyn managed to whisper back.

Ned smiled as he responded. "Jessa, truly, I would have you sleep. Tell the other ladies in waiting that Catelyn is awake, let the kitchen know, go and thank your gods in the sept for us all. But then I would hope you can find some sleep. We will need you later, perhaps, but I will stay with my wife now." Ned spoke all this without turning to look at anyone, but keeping his eyes on Catelyn, noting how her eyelids struggled to stay open. He held up a cup to her lips that she might drink more tea.

Maester Luwin and Jessa exchanged glances, but then got up and moved to leave Catelyn's chambers.

"Yes, my lord," Jessa whispered. "Please call me the moment you have need of me."

Ned nodded to them both as they turned to leave.

When he heard the click of the door shutting behind them, he let go of a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"How are you, my love?" he asked his wife.

"I am...I am so tired, Ned. And I just can't believe this...what has happened..." Catelyn shook her head weakly, and Ned could see the tears forming in her eyes. He looked away at the fire and the windows to keep from crying himself. The day was creeping toward nightfall again. There were colors across the sky, painting the clouds. 

"I feel tired, my body is sore. Maester told me about the shaking - most likely from loss of blood and the shock of the experience, he said. I hope not to do it again." She shuddered at the thought. "But the pain is not too much. I can bear it. I feel more for you and the children, love. Have you eaten? And Arya, she was not quite herself..." Cat stopped talking, clearly exhausted.

Ned's head snapped up when Catelyn mentioned Arya. "Do you not remember then, some incident between Sansa and Arya, before you took off on your horse?"

Catelyn shook her head.

"Gods - poor child. Arya has been convinced, and Sansa, too, most likely, that the fall was their fault, because they had quarrelled before you were to leave, and so you were delayed as you had to speak to them. Arya thought this was the cause for your hurry, and thus your fall."

"I do not remember that at all..."

"Mayhaps it just blends in to all the other arguments you have settled between them," Ned smiled. "Arya went as far as to promise to practice her stitching and braid her hair like yours, and to never fight with her sister again, or something of the sort, as long as the gods woke you."

Catelyn managed a small chuckle. "A fair request, then."

Ned remembered something suddenly - "Cat! They said you were going to see the woman, with the first fruits, when your horse spooked at the fox."

Catelyn looked at him and nodded.

"Why were you going yourself? You could have sent someone."

Catelyn looked away shyly, unsure of what to say. "I know, Ned. I had an idea, to make you a cake, and I wanted to go myself. Please, I am sorry it has caused so much trouble. I still cannot believe it..."

"But Catelyn, how did you even know about that old tradition?" Ned asked.

"Oh, Riat and some of the others, the ones that have been here since you were young, as they love to remind me. They spoke of it one time...Riat was making one for her husband, I think. And I was just...I thought it was beautiful. Something of your old way, of the North."

Ned smiled at Catelyn, his southron bride.

" _My_ old way?" he asked.

"Well, of your people, yes. It is just, sometimes I want to feel more...I wanted to do something that says or proves I am truly of the North now. To show you that I love you, and our lives here at Winterfell. It was foolish, a silly, romantic idea, I suppose. A stupid cake!" she laughed at herself and shook her head in embarrassment.

Ned chuckled and thought for a moment before he spoke. "But, Cat. You need do nothing to show me that; and you have nothing you need to prove to me or anyone. You alone are my true north, more than enough," he said as his hand tugged lightly at her auburn braid.

Catelyn looked at him, stunned. "Am I?"

He swallowed before he continued, hoping he could say the right words. But he could not look directly at her as he said them, softly. "Mayhaps it has been hard to see through all these years, and the challenges you face as my wife and the lady of Winterfell. But you must know. You must know how much I need you. How much I love you."

Catelyn bit her lip as she smiled at her husband. She was still reeling from all the Maester had told her about the wounds - while none of them were infected or too threatening, she had lost quite a lot of blood, since she had been carried back from the site of her fall before anyone was able to bind them. This left her rather weak, for probably a few weeks, he had said. Her arm was broken, but he was confident it would heal. A few of her scratches were already itching with the scabs that said they were healing, which was a good sign. She still could not believe that she had lost four days - nor could she remember much about what happened right before the accident. But her heart hurt more for what her husband and children had endured. Jessa had whispered that Ned had not left her bedside at all, and that she had never seen her lord in such distress, not even during Catelyn's childbirths.

She was not sure what it was, but she felt that something had shifted in their relationship, or at least, something had changed about her husband. He had seemed a little different since returning from the four months he was away - more tender with her and more open with his words than she had ever known him in the many years they had been married.

She could not name it, but she welcomed it. Ned's words meant more to her than he would ever know. She loved him so very much. "Would my husband hold me in bed a while? I am so tired, and am in need of his arms around me." He smiled then, and moved quickly to remove his boots and shirts, knowing he would quickly roast under all her furs. She managed to scoot a tiny bit to the side, and he slipped into the gap between her body and the edge of the bed. She could just barely turn without disturbing her left arm that lay rebandaged at her side, so she let him curl himself around her, and contented herself with lacing their fingers together between them while he free hand cupped her cheek. She turned her face for a kiss, which he gave softly until she pulled back to speak.

"Four moons you are gone, fighting and protecting our people, and you are home barely a full day and then this happens...I am so sorry to have caused such distress for you and the children." Ned began to protest her words, but she cut him off, continuing, "It is not exactly the homecoming I wanted to give you, my love. Thank you for always taking such good care of me."

Ned forced himself not to grimace in reaction to her last words - Jon's outburst in the hallway had reminded him that he had not always taken such good care of Catelyn's feelings, nor of Jon's, if he made himself tell the truth. He needed to tell them both the bigger truth, and soon. But for now, he allowed himself to lose his worry in Catelyn's big, beautiful eyes, that always seemed to read him so well.

He did not know what to say, so he simply kissed her again.

Catelyn could barely open her eyes after they kissed, they were so heavy-lidded.

"You should sleep now, Cat. You need your strength."

"Yes, but you will still hold me, won't you?"

He nodded as he pulled the furs around her and made sure she was tucked deep into their warmth, but leaving himself uncovered. "Whatever my lady needs."

"Oh, I always love when you say that." He grinned at her. "But you sleep, too, Ned. I will not be able to rest easy if I know you are not."

"Whatever my lady needs." Now it was her turn to grin.

"I love you, Ned," she said softly. "So very much."

And then they slept.

 

Several hours must have passed, for the fire was burning low and the sky outside the windows was completely black when Ned's eyes opened to the sound of someone rushing up the stairs, knocking briefly before tumbling into the room. Ned turned quickly, careful not to disturb Catelyn, and spun around to see several bodies tumble into the room.

"FATHER!" Robb called, and in the dim light, as his eyes adjusted, Ned could make out his other children, as well, though they all appeared to be in their nightclothes. He heard Catelyn stir behind him.

"Robb!" Ned cried sharply. "What on earth are you doing? You know your Mother sleeps-"

"He's gone, Father! I knew something was wrong and now he has left in the night!"

"Ned, the children! - what is the matter?" Catelyn cried weakly from the bed, beckoning Rickon to her side.

"Robb, what are you talking about? Who is-"

"JON!" Arya sobbed, and Sansa put an arm around her. Robb was pacing the floor near the fire, and reached to throw another log on. Ned looked slowly at his children before settling on Robb's back as he had stretched out his arm to place his hand on the mantle, staring into the flames. The room felt thick with tension.

"Tell him, Robb," Bran urged his brother.

Ned watched Robb take a deep breath, and begin speaking without turning around. "I noticed it at dinner, he was acting strange. He was so quiet and moody, and wouldn't laugh at anything. We were all so happy, speaking about Mother, about her being awake and everything. People were making toasts for her recovery and health. Theon made some crack at Jon about being in a mood, and he left the table, violently. But then he came back, only to grab the bottle of wine and leave again. I asked him what the matter was, and he just looked at me with this hard look. I thought he just wanted to be alone for a bit. We all stayed in the Hall, later than normal. I kept thinking he would cool off in his room and come back. But he didn't." Robb shook his head.

"Maester said we were to leave you alone, so we did not bother you, Father," Bran continued. "Robb said he would go get Jon, because Maester said we could stay up a little later than normal, and have cake to celebrate you waking up, Mother. But then Robb came back, and said Jon wasn't in his room."

"So then we all went looking for him, we looked everywhere!" Arya chimed in. "The stables, the godswood, all through the kitchens. He's gone!"

Ned finally broke in, "No, he's just hiding somewhere, I'm sure. There must be somewhere he is, and he'll turn up. You can't have looked everywhere." Even as he said the words, though, his heart began to speed up in panic. Something felt terribly wrong.

"No, Father," Sansa said. "While they were looking outside and in the stables, I went up to Jon's room, just to double-check or if he came back. He left this note. It is for you to read, but we read it before we realized. But maybe you know what it means better than we do." Sansa handed a crumpled piece of paper to Ned. He could feel Catelyn trying to move behind him to see, and turned back to look at her.

"Please, Cat, don't move. I shall read it to you."

Catelyn nodded in the darkness, and Ned walked toward the fire to use the light to read the scrawled words aloud.

 

 

 

_"Dear Father,_

_I have gone to look for answers, since you will give me none. Perhaps this is not the right time, but I cannot wait. I am sure you will be angry. Forgive me._

_Do not trouble yourself to look for me, I will be fine on my own._

_Jon Snow"_

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

"Damn!" Ned cursed, as he crumbled the hastily written note up and threw it in the fire in frustration. "Why would he do such a foolish thing?"

"I think I know," Bran said quietly.

"What do you mean, Bran?" Catelyn asked.

Bran looked between his parents for a moment before continuing, "Well, I have been thinking these last few days...we have spent all this time with Mother, and then we were so excited tonight and could not stop talking about you and being so glad...I realized that Jon does not have a mother who loves him, and that must make him feel terrible. I think he means to find her. I feel sorry for him, that he does not know a mother like we do." Bran seemed to realize that what he was saying could potentially cast blame or shame on either of his parents, and barely whispered his last words.

Catelyn looked to Ned, and their eyes locked in mutual tension.

"Why doesn't Jon have a Mother? How terrible," Rickon snuggled closer to Catelyn. He was too young to truly understand what it meant that Jon was a bastard, but everyone looked around the room, wondering if someone would answer. Catelyn shook her head slightly at Ned, enough that the others would notice. This was not the time.

"Do you think Bran is right, Father?" Robb asked. "Has Jon gone to look for his mother? The note says he's looking for answers..."

Ned felt that it was probably exactly what Jon meant. But what a foolish idea! Jon had no real knowledge to start with, despite what rumours might swirl around Winterfell. Ned remembered well Cat whispering Ashara Dayne's name to him one night early in their marriage - and when pressed, she had admitted that it was something she had heard about the castle. He had made efforts to squelch the rumour, and he had heard nothing since. But people must still talk...Ned recalled the conversation around the campfire...

Gods! Where did Jon think he should go? What direction would he take? The road to Kings Landing was the only one that made sense. Ned felt frantic to think of breaking his sister's promise...to keep her son safe...did he have food? Had he taken a good horse? Did Jon know enough, had Ned taught him enough that he might be able to survive even one cold night on the ground?

"Ned, Ned, my love, Ned!" he heard Cat's voice breaking through his thoughts. She must have been calling him for a few moments. He turned to face his wife, so exhausted, only just waking from four days of sleep. The emotional burden this must be casting on her to couple with the physical one of recovering from her accident! He turned his mind away from such thoughts, trying to focus on what she said.

"Ned - we must look for him about Winterfell. It is too dark to look further, but call your men," she was whispering to him, as that was all her voice could manage after four days asleep.

He looked at her where she lay on her pillows, where she lay holding a sniffling Rickon to her chest. His amazing wife - feeling for him so much that she might put her own feelings aside and support him in what he must do.

"You are right, Cat. But I need to speak with you, first." Catelyn raised her eyebrows but nodded at him. He turned back to the children, thinking quickly the ways he could enlist their help long enough for them to be useful, and also buy him some time with Cat. "Robb - gather a few of our men from the Great Hall, and begin another search for Jon. There may be a few places a young man might go...that you have not checked yet..." Robb looked embarassed, but nodded in grim determination. Ned moved on before the other children could catch his meaning. "Bran and Rickon - will you go to the kitchens and see if the women know anything? Sansa - check with the Maester and check Jon's room again. Thank you for finding the note. Arya - I need you to go to the stables and see if any horses or supplies are missing. That will help us. I need to talk to you Mother for a moment, and then we will meet again here. Do you understand?"

The children all nodded solemnly and then rushed out the door with their tasks. Ned paced the room for a moment, and Catelyn watched her husband frantically think about what he must do.

"It is too dark for you to go searching for him beyond the castle, Ned."

"I know." 

"First light, then?"

Ned sighed heavily. "I do not want to leave you, but yes."

"I will be fine. Do not worry. I know you need to go find your son," Catelyn replied. Ned searched her face for reproach, but found none. Gods, this was unfair. Should he tell her now? Would it send her into another shaking spell? Before he could decide, Cat began to speak again.

"Where do you think he probably went, to find his mother? Kings Landing? Or perhaps...Is there something you have told him about her that you have not told me?" she asked softly, looking down at her hands where they sat twisting a fur in her lap.

This was not what Ned wanted to do, but it seemed that the note Jon had left with his disappearance was going to force his hand. He had to tell Cat - he could not keep this up any longer.

"Cat...Cat..." his voice broke. She looked up at him in alarm as he took the chair next to her bed. He grabbed her good hand in both of his and stroked his thumbs in her palm and along the veins in her wrist.

"I...I do not know how to begin this. I do not have much time, the children will be back. But I feel strongly that I must tell you this now." He could not meet her eyes, but could feel them looking at him with an urgent expression.

"Ned...what is it?" she asked quietly.

"I am not Jon's father." He shook his head, thinking of the sixteen years between them that he had lied about this. "He is not my son. He is Lyanna's son with Rhaegar Targaryen."

Ned dared to look up at his wife after he said that.

She was half-sitting, reclining up against the pillows placed at the head of the bed. Her unwashed hair hung loosely in a braid to the side of her face, and her thick nightgown revealed just the beginning of the sprinking of freckles he knew traveled down her neck and across her breasts.

He let himself look up at her mouth - it was set in a clenched line, and seemed to move at its own accord. Her chin quivered. He looked further up to her eyes. They were such a stormy blue they looked dark grey back at his.

When his eyes finally made contact with hers, he felt the rush of shame he had been expecting. But it was worse than he could have planned for.

"Catelyn -" he began.

"Ned - what do you  _mean_?" she spoke haltingly through clenched teeth. As sick and exhausted as he could see she was, the fire in her spirit burned still. He could hear it in her voice and felt the undercurrent as she spoke.

He tried to speak, but a sound between a tired laugh and a sob choked out instead. "Gods - I have imagined this conversation with you a hundred times over these years, Cat. But never like this. Never because I felt forced to by someone else. I do not know how to start - "

"I care not how you start. Tell me this instant what you mean," she bit back, withdrawing her hand from his.

He had not heard her voice that cold in a long time. He drew back into the chair, closing his eyes and willing himself to speak clearly.

"Cat - I wed you in the sept, we were together barely a fortnight, and then I went for my sister. I wanted to succeed where my father and brother had not. I felt such rage at their deaths...my entire life had changed. I wanted justice for them. I wanted to bring Lyanna home and never leave Winterfell again." He shook his head at the memories. "We fought hard, we killed many men, we lost many men. When I finally broke through and ran up the steps to find Lyanna, she was lying in a pool of her own blood. I was too late. She was dying of a fever - coughing, spitting, throwing up blood. She was so weak, Cat. She was just a little girl, you know. Not much older than our Sansa. Gods - " He had tears in his eyes now, and she longed to reach out to comfort him, but would not let herself. "Ashara Dayne was in the room, holding Jon in her arms, rocking him as he wailed." He had not thought it possible, but Cat's eyes seemed to grow darker when he said Ashara's name. "Lyanna told me that the boy was her son with Rhaegar. They had actually married in secret, so he wasn't a bastard," he spat the words out bitterly. "I tried to tell her that she would be alright, that we would find a maester and save her and bring her home. But. She said she knew she was dying, she knew her child was in danger, and she made me promise to protect him. Those were her dying words, and I hear them most nights in my dreams. 'Promise me, Ned.' And so I did."

"She knew what had happened to the other Targaryen children?" Catelyn asked quietly.

"Yes. And she knew that Robert, like a brother to me, and who supposedly loved her enough to start this rebellion, had _rejoiced_ at the news of the death of the babes," Ned spat out bitterly. "I still cannot believe that happened. Is that what we men go off to war to do? To bash babes against walls and celebrate over it?! Where is the honor in killing innocent children? There is none. There is none," Ned said, biting the words off his tongue with bitterness.

"So Lyanna bid you take her son and claim him as your bastard," Catelyn supplied.

"She asked me to protect him," Ned said simply. "He looked so much like me, and it is common for men, especially during war...Howland Reed suggested that he take Jon back with him, but I did not want my nephew anywhere but under my own roof."

"And so without considering my feelings at all, or your own heir that I had borne you, you bring back your nephew to pose as your bastard, raising him here at Winterfell, so all of Westeros could either mock or pity me? You could not trust me with at least the truth of the matter?" She spoke quietly, devoid of emotion. But her words stung with truth.

He grasped for words to make her understand. "But Cat, I did not truly know you then, I could not make you party to treason, as Jon is the rightful heir." She looked at him but did not speak. His heart was beating wildly as he continued, "I did not know the marriage and the love and the family we would come to create together. What could I have possibly done to keep him safe, _and_ to keep you and Robb safe?! Was there another way?"

He looked at her desperately, willing her to understand.

"Water," she signaled to him to bring the cup to her lips. He jumped at the chance to do something and almost spilled the cup over her chest. He felt her eyes blaze at him in irritation as she sipped from the cup.

Catelyn drew back from the cup and observed her husband. His eyes were unfocused and he looked sick with worry - over her or Jon, she could not tell. She felt sorry for him, against her will. 

All these years of hating Jon and the phantom woman that her husband had loved enough to bring a bastard home to Winterfell to shame her in front of all the world...suddenly there was a completely new story to understand. There had never been another woman. Jon was not Ned's child, despite looking more like him than most of their children together.

The fact that Jon had always been blameless in his parentage had never done anything to soften Catelyn's feelings toward him - the living embodiment of her husband's infidelity, the threat to her children and Winterfell, the chasm of misunderstanding between her and Ned. She often wished she was a better person and could feel less anxiety over Jon's presence in their lives, but Ned's insistence on including him as one of his own children, the uncanny resemblance between Jon and Ned that seemed to grow more everyday, in contrast to Robb's looks that leaned particularly towards her own, and the silent, sullen way Jon always acted around her, probably because he knew how much she regretted his presence...it had only made her more aware of the shadow it cast over what was otherwise a more blessed life than Catelyn could have ever hoped for.

She had forgiven Ned for the bastard long ago - it was almost expected of men during war. The looks and whispers of the rest of the castle about Jon living at Winterfell had mostly faded away after the first few years - though they had hurt deeply - but Catelyn had found a way to love Ned, sometime after Sansa, she thought, and stone by stone they had built a fierce love and respect for each other over these years.

But to know now how long he had lied to her. She could understand the reasons at the beginning - when he explained it, it sounded like her logical husband to not want to bring her into treason, and to keep his nephew safe. But all the years since? Had she not earned his trust? Were there more lies?

He was searching her face as she let herself come back and focus on the moment. She was not sure what to say.

"Cat. Please. Say something. The children will be back soon, I will leave at first light, and I cannot bear any of it if you will not speak to me." He pleaded from his chair beside her bed.

She drew as deep a breath as she could, but it hurt to do so, and she saw him react to her wince.

"Ned...you lied. You have lied to me for _years_. I cannot truly understand that. Every comment or look I have endured, the shame I have felt, the anger I have felt..."

"Cat - my love - I saw no other way. I wanted to tell you - Gods, I've wanted to tell you! But then I did not want to burden you, did not want to complicate anything further, or...I don't know. I did not know what to say. And even if I had told you, the world cannot know about Jon's true parentage. It would put his life in danger!"

She drew a deep breath and held it to keep from crying.

Seventeen years they had been married, and this had been the point of most contention between them, albeit it mostly silent contention since she had first come to Winterfell and felt brave and hurt enough to whisper Ashara Dayne's name to him across the pillows one night.

To know now that all that pain and the struggle in their marriage was almost for naught, except to save the life of his sister's babe that was also the rightful heir to the throne...Catelyn could not think straight at all.

"Cat...say something...I beg you..."

She shook her head and whispered "no" as the tears began to spill out before she could stop them.

He left his chair and knelt at her bedside.

"I have never, ever wanted to hurt you. But this...this was thrust upon me and I made a choice. I have to think I made the right one, knowing what would have most likely happened if I had left the child with Lyanna or revealed his true heritage." He pleaded with her, softly placing his hands on her legs, smoothing the furs over her nightgown. Her good hand was cupped to her mouth, and she stared straight ahead at the fire. "Had it been Edmure or Lysa, wouldn't you have done the same for their child?" he asked desperately. "No matter how people may have looked at you or spoken of you for having a bastard, would you not have made the same promise to protect your own blood from such a wretched death as would have surely come, once it was known there was a living heir to the throne?"

Catelyn stilled at his question. Yes, she thought to herself. She probably would do whatever it took to keep her kin safe. She could only hope her siblings would do the same for her own children. Just thinking of her children under any sort of threat made her heart seize up - she pictured Lyanna dying in a bed, desperately praying for a way to save her only child from the clutches of Tywin Lannister and his dogs. Lyanna had probably thought she would die before any chance of a rescue, as sick as she must have been. But then her brother Ned had come, and she was able to die in some peace, knowing he would take care of her child....gods...a girl of what, fourteen? fifteen? Catelyn could cry at the thought of the injustice of it all.

She looked down at her husband, kneeling at her bedside. She ached for his grief, and for hers.

This life people lived...it seemed too cruel to some. It had been cruel to his father, his brother, her once betrothed, and certainly to Lyanna. It had been cruel to many lords and ladies she knew. But Catelyn knew, deep down, despite the years of hurt that this lie of the bastard had caused her, she had a husband who loved her and she loved him fiercely as well. She had five healthy children, a prosperous castle and the people of Winterfell loved their Lord and Lady. And so despite the bastard, she was envied by many. Her life was blessed in so many ways.

"Ned..." she began softly. Her throat and voice were still so tired from her accident. Everything about her felt tired. She wiped her tears and met his eyes - they were a light grey under his furrowed eyebrows, peering desperately into her face. He looked incredibly vulnerable and miserable in a way she had never seen before.

"Ned...I am trying, but I do not know what to think at the moment. This is all so much."

"I know, Cat, I know! Gods - I am so sorry. I am so sorry." He lowered his head to her bed. She was angry and upset and hurting, but her heart went out to him, as it always did. She placed her hand on his head, stroking his long hair. His shoulders trembled with emotion. He spoke without moving or looking up at her.

"Catelyn...if there had been any other way, and I could know Jon was safe, I would have done so, I swear it. But he is my blood, and Winterfell is in his veins, and I brought him here. I have questioned myself almost daily - every time I have seen the pain it caused you, or heard someone say something cruel, or watched Jon feel so unsure of his place here. It is not his fault, I do not know that it matters whose fault any of this is. But I have wished a thousand times to know a way to take the pain from you that this caused. I wished it then, when you first came here, before we truly knew each other. And I wish it even more now, more than anything, as we have grown to a love I could never have expected, and certainly do not deserve from you. I want to deserve it. You are everything to me, Cat."

He sat still, with his head still bowed before her. She thought for a moment before answering. Just as she had salvaged their marriage before, she would do it now. She had to. There was no other way.

"No, you do deserve my love. And I do love you," she whispered at him. He looked up from his position, tears in his eyes. "And I will forgive you, Ned. I am... this hurts." She stopped to gasp for a breath, overwhelmed when he had met her eyes with his own. "You must tell me now - is there anything else you have kept from me or lied to me about? You must promise to tell me. I could not bear it."

"No, Cat. I swear it. I have not lied to you since and I never could."

She nodded at him.

"My love," he choked on his words, "I want to make you happy. I know it will never truly amend for all you have felt these years, but I hope you will let me spend the rest of our lives doing whatever it takes to prove how much you mean to me."

She choked on a laugh through her tears, unceremoniously wiping first her tears with the sleeve of her gown, and then his. "Whatever my lady needs?" she offered with a weak smile, echoing their earlier words, the words Ned had always said to her, either in seriousness or jest, throughout their marriage.

"Whatever my lady needs," he swore, taking her hand in his own and pressing it to his lips.

"Your lady needs you to find your...nephew," she struggled over the words, "and then return safely and quickly."

He stood up from his knees and sat on the edge of her bed, leaning over her face as he cupped it in his hands. "I love you, Catelyn," he said, before giving her a tender kiss. They sat still for a moment, foreheads touching, before she broke the silence.

"Go check with our children, see what they have discovered. They do not need to know about Jon, yet, I don't think?" she asked and he shook his head. "We will talk when you return. I suppose you must tell him before then." Ned murmured in agreement. "Go, Ned. You need to start preparing for a journey."

Ned searched her face. "May I come back and sleep with you tonight? Please?" he asked.

"Yes, love. But have the children go to their bedchambers to sleep. I do not want them sleeping in the hallways. Now go, so you may return." She tilted her head up for another kiss, and he met her lips and then kissed her forehead, and then softly walked out of the room, turning back at the doorway to catch her eyes one last time, but she was looking at the fire.

He shut the door and went to find the children and meet with his men.

She waited until she heard his footsteps completely disappear down the stairs. She had given her husband what he needed.

And then Catelyn wept.


	18. Chapter 18

She was not sure how much time had passed. When Ned had left, Catelyn had let the tears and the emotions overtake her, and cried harder than she could remember doing so for a very long time. When the tears slowed and she could breathe normally again, she slept a little. Upon waking, she noticed the fire was dying, and several candles in the room had burnt out, but Ned had not yet returned. She hoped against hope that Jon had been found somewhere in the castle, and someone would come soon to tell her so. But it seemed more likely they were still searching, and Ned and a small company of men would leave at first light in search of Jon.

Jon Snow. The bastard of Winterfell.

Catelyn sighed back against the pillows that held her up. She was too stubborn to admit how weak she truly was, but in the few hours she had been awake, she had catologued her movements and especially after speaking with the Maester, understood what kind of condition she was in. The question of whether or not she would heed what she considered to be overly cautious advise from Luwin had yet to be determined.

She had imagined that perhaps, one day, Ned would finally tell her who Jon's mother was. Or she would find a letter, someone would say something, and she would know for sure who the woman was that her honorable husband had done such a dishonorable thing for.

For the longest time, Catelyn had imagined the woman was Ashara Dayne, rumoured to be the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros. Ashara had flung herself from a tower, perhaps even lovestruck with Ned. No one was sure why Ashara had ended her life in that way. But when Catelyn had finally asked him about her, Ned's reaction had almost convinced her that it was not Ashara.

And when she thought about it, it did seem improbable that her sweet but incredibly shy husband had caused any woman, let alone a woman like Ashara, that most of the realm's men had tried to seduce, to fall so desperately in love with him as to kill herself while leaving a babe behind. How could any mother do that? Catelyn shuddered at the thought of anyone raising her children but herself.

To Catelyn, of course, Ned was intelligent, handsome, and kind. He could even be funny or romantic when he wanted, but that had taken years of living together, and children borne together, before Catelyn had truly seen all there was to love about Ned and develop the kind of passion she had for him now. It seemed unlikely he could inspire that in a woman he barely knew.

But even feeling mostly sure that Ashara was not a secret love of Ned's, during their first few years of marriage, and even still during darker times in Catelyn's life, she could feel so uncertain...she questioned everything. Did Ned imagine this other woman when they made love? Did he ever still see her? Did they exchange letters? Did he learn how to kiss and please Catelyn as he did from this secret lover? Did he wish their children looked more like Jon - a babe he had made with another woman? Did he think Catelyn as beautiful as he said he did?

Catelyn remembered pouring her heart out in letters to Lysa about the humiliation she felt walking around the castle with Robb, who looked so little like her husband he could be anyone's son, while the spitting image of Ned in little Jon would totter around with his nurse. Catelyn had written letter after letter asking her sister's prayers, for the gods' wisdom to know what to do and how to please her husband.

When Lysa finally wrote back a bitter letter saying that she supposed that despite all she disliked about her marriage to Lord Arryn, at least she didn't have to worry about her lord husband being unfaithful, as he was almost too old to attend to his duties with her to create an heir, Catelyn had stopped writing.

But the pain had not ceased for years.

Catelyn had searched the faces of every maid and lady that frequented Winterfell, trying to find resemblances to Jon, seeing if Ned seemed to favor any of them. But her husband never seemed to notice even the prettier maids. Catelyn even thought some could be accused of outright flirting with him at times - a brush of the hand when serving him meals, a flattering remark to "my Lord Stark" - but he always seemed completely ignorant. It was endearing, really, how utterly uncharming her husband was with other women, in comparison to some men like the GreatJon, who almost seemed to derive pleasure from watching Ned squirm while asking Catelyn to dance or lavishing her with compliments in front of other guests.

Family, Duty, Honor. It always came back to that.

Yes, it was sometime after Sansa was just a babe, when Catelyn had chosen to forgive Ned, to make this family they had now. She had decided she would not raise her children in a home that was anything less than loving. But that forgiveness was a choice Catelyn sometimes had to make herself choose daily - whenever she noticed Ned favoring Jon, or when one of her children referred to Jon as their brother, or as she watched Jon using the same mannerisms as her husband - it was her duty as the honorable wife of Winterfell - she had to _choose_ to forgive Ned every day, so that she could love him every day.

And they had learned each other, learned how to love and be loved...they had _made_  their love, and made a family worth living for. She had a life she loved.

But now...

It seemed it was all a lie. If Ned could have lied to her for this long, were there others? Other bastards, other women, other lies of any kind at all?

He said that there were no more, and she had said she believed him...but she had barely had a chance to think about all he had said. The knowledge had come so suddenly, her entire world had shifted in a moment, and Ned had been staring at her with a wild, desperate look in his eyes that begged for her forgiveness so that he might go in a measure of peace to search for Jon in the morning. And the gods only knew how long it would take, and what dangers Ned and his men might face, as they might possibly travel all over Westeros in search of a teenage boy.

"Damn that foolish boy and his lacking sense of timing!" Catelyn cursed under her breath, and then felt a fresh wave of tears. She needed time to think this over, to grieve, to be angry, to be...

tired. She was so tired. Too tired to think clearly. She was so tired that she felt too deeply. In all that had developed in the last few hours, she forgot that she was awake for the first time in almost five days...the injuries from the horse... _oh, gods, was there to be no respite? My husband returns from four moons away from me, a horse nearly breaks me in two, Jon runs off into the night, and he is not Ned's son...Ned has no bastard....all these years..._

Suddenly, there was a faint knock at the door. She wiped her eyes violently with her good arm, just in time to see Bran and Rickon walk slowly into the room.

"Sweetlings!" she whispered hoarsely. "Come here, my darlings."

They crept forward towards her bed. 

"Mother," Bran began, "we wondered if we might sleep with you tonight? We have missed you, and we are worried for Jon. No one could find him anywhere. He is truly gone!"

Catelyn sucked in a breath before nodding. "Of course, children. Please - just watch my arm? There now, climb up here and we will tuck you all in." 

Catelyn thanked the gods silently. Although she had told Ned what she knew he needed and wanted to hear - that she had forgiven him and that he could return to sleep tonight in her chambers - she honestly did not think she could bear it if he tried to sleep beside her. The children would provide a buffer of some sort...yes...she would not have to explain to Ned and then he would go in the morning...and of course, he would return in a few days' time, she could not think otherwise. And by then, her mind would have had a chance to sort this all out, and know what to do, wouldn't it?

Catelyn reasoned silently to herself as she used her one good arm to tuck Bran and Rickon beneath the furs on her bed.

They fell asleep quickly, snuggled against each other, warm under her furs, close to the mother they had been so afraid for.

As tired as she was, sleep did not come to Catelyn.

She watched the stars shift outside the window panes, the flames flicker as the fire continued to die slowly, and heard the sweet low breathing of her two youngest sons.

Catelyn loved all her children fiercely and equally, but more than just because they were the youngest, Bran and Rickon held her heart closely.

Robb, one day soon, would marry some girl and begin to be a man under this roof. He needed to begin spending more time with his father, and learn how to be a true lord. He would soon have no time for his mother. And the girls would marry, maybe to the South, or other lords of the North. Catelyn secretly hoped Sansa at least would end up in Kings Landing or somewhere like Riverrun; not only because Sansa wanted it, but because Catelyn knew Sansa would do so well. She had steeled her heart for those moments already - when her girls would be betrothed to whoever made a more practical or political match, and then married and carried away from her. Her Sansa was so beautiful and so ready to be betrothed, although Arya...well, Catelyn had to smile to think of Arya betrothed to anyone or anything save Mischief itself.

But Bran and Rickon...they were the children made of nothing but love between she and Ned. They would be here with her the longest. And the memories they conjured were sweet. Both had been conceived in honest love, here at Winterfell, for no reason but that she and Ned sought each other out, sought the pleasure of each other, sought the company of each other. Bran was made as Ned and Catelyn had begun to seek different kinds of pleasure - wanting to spend time in the bedchambers not just to produce heirs, but earnestly searching for ways to show affection. With Bran, they had begun to find each other during the day, in different parts of the castle, seeking excitement and change from the routine.

Then with Rickon, especially, conceived in the godswood, Catelyn was almost sure of it...the memory always made her smile. Was her last wolfpup so much wilder because he had begun under stars that fell all around his parents, as they gasped towards the sky, steam rising from the hotsprings, gripping the grass of the godswood for purchase as they rolled on top of each other in hot need after an argument they could not remember the cause of?

As she watched them sleep, she tried to grasp at those memories...to know that her marriage to Ned was true, held honesty, despite this revelation...

But everything was colored by his confession.

All this time, everything they had shared...

She heard the door whish open softly. Intuitively, she knew it was Ned. He crept quietly toward the bed as Catelyn closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

She felt him lean over her, brushing her hair softly, and then pulling the furs more firmly around her and the children. He moved further down her body, tucking this and that in, before reaching up to pull her braid fully away from her face and trace her jawline.

It was all Catelyn could do to not tremble or weep under his touch. It was so tender and full of love, yet she was paralyzed with her hurt.

He leaned to kiss her forehead, and as he pulled away, only then she dared to open her eyes to watch him walk toward the fire, throw another log on, and then settle into the comfortable chair.

She wanted to reach to him, she wanted to yell at him, she wanted to hold him.

She nearly told him to go to his own bedchambers, so that at least he might sleep in a bed before leaving in the morning. Despite her anger, she did not want him riding off without at least a few hours of rest. But she knew he would refuse to leave.

Everything ached - her head, her arm, her bones. Her heart ached.

She woke in the morning, unaware that she had fallen asleep. She looked toward the chair, but Ned was gone. She felt equal parts anxiety over his journey, and relief that she did not have to face him this morning. As she became more awake, she realized there was something in her hand. A note. She smiled in spite of herself. Ned must have slipped it there before he left. She unfolded it and recognized his lettering, and began reading.

_Catelyn,_

_We did not find Jon, but a horse, some food and wine are missing. No one saw him leave, but I have taken a few men and am confident we will find him soon and bring him home. I will tell him the truth before we return. I will send a rider ahead of our party so that you may know when we will arrive._

_I cannot know what you are feeling, but I know I deserve any anger you may feel. I would do anything to take away any pain you may feel._

_The burden of this lie I have told you all these years has been incredible. You must know that I have hated deceiving you. I cannot regret saving Jon's life or granting Lya's dying wish, but I regret every moment you have hurt because of it._

_Watching you sleep now - you are so beautiful, Cat. I hate having to leave you. It never gets easier. I love you more than I could ever say. I hope it is some small comfort to know that there has never been another woman for me. There could never be anyone but you._

_Please forgive me. I will be home soon. I will miss you at each moment. I miss you now, as you sleep._

_Ned_

_  
_Catelyn read the letter twice more before folding it back up and staring out the window.

Dawn was rising over Winterfell, a new day was beginning.


	19. Chapter 19

As he walked across the courtyard toward the stables, Ned glanced back at the window of the room where he knew his wife and two youngest children were sleeping. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours - he could not yet sort it out in his head.

It would be good to get on a horse and ride in the fresh air. It might help him think, if he could stop worrying long enough.

Between his concern for Catelyn and his concern for Jon, it took Ned nearly twice as long as it should have to properly equip his horse, gather wineskins and foods left in the kitchens, and swing himself up into the saddle. He forced himself to focus on the mission at hand, and gathered his men in a circle on their horses. He only asked six to come with him, wanting a small party to move quickly.

"Jon has taken his horse and only a few supplies with him. He has a few hours start on us, but I am almost certain he would have headed toward Kings Landing. I do not think he would have strayed far from the main road, if at all. Any houses close to the road, we will ask if they have seen him. Trynden - I will ask you to guide us, looking for clues, as I know you are quite a trailsman." The men had nodded solemnly. "Ideally, we will find him quickly, and when we do, I would ask you let me speak with him alone for a time, but stand guard in case he tries to run off. He..." Ned trailed off, unsure of what to say about Jon and his reason for running. He decided to say nothing. "Thank you for attending to this matter with me...I would appreciate your silence upon our return about the nature of this journey. I am hopeful that we will be back within the walls of Winterfell within a few days."

Ned turned his horse, and with one last look at his wife's bedchamber windows, hoping against reason that perhaps she would be looking down at him from there, he led his men to the gates and out on the road toward Kings Landing.

The light of the dawn helped them on the road - only about an hour after they had left, Trynden was able to find signs that suggested a single rider, moving quickly, had indeed used the road.

As they kept moving, Ned directed his men to split to each side, thinking Jon may have stopped for the night at some point to make camp. If Jon had drank as much wine as Robb had told him last night while they were looking for him, he would have wanted to sleep eventually.

The fresh air revived him, and the physical task of riding and searching helped clear his mind. Cat might be awake by now...he wondered what she would think of the letter he had written her. Part of him was relieved that she finally knew the truth. A large part of him. Ned hated lying; even as a child or an adolescent with Robert, he could never abide hiding the truth, no matter what sort of consequences he knew he might face as a result. But as Catelyn's husband, this lie that he was convinced had been necessary, had weighed on him constantly like heavy stones on his shoulders. Every time he had seen Catelyn's face go carefully blank at any mention of Jon, or hear her gently deflect questions about Jon, such as they had last night with Rickon...

All the children at some point must have been told that Jon was a bastard. Ned realized with a start that those were conversations that Cat alone must have had with them...he had never had to explain it himself. How had she explained it? What had been the reaction of the children? What must they have thought of their father, to do such a thing to their mother?

He had never thought about that...all children look up to their parents; their children adored Cat, especially, and loved Ned dearly. But hearing and understanding what it meant that he had not only had a bastard, but had brought him to live at Winterfell, throwing his infidelity in their beloved mother's face...Gods, another twist of the knife in his gut when he thought about the pain she had endured on his account, and the confusion and pain their children must have, as well.

Should he have told her sooner? How different might their lives have been?

How would that have changed things for Jon, if Cat had known the truth? How would things have changed for Cat? For their marriage and family?

Would she have been able to love him as her nephew? And when would have been the best time to tell Jon? No one else could have ever known - it would have endangered him. When Jon was younger, Ned had always thought strongly against his knowing the truth, knowing how difficult a secret it would have been for Jon to keep. Jon never kept anything from Robb, his closest companion.

Ned was still a little unsure if telling Jon _now_ was the best idea. But he had no one to counsel him otherwise.

That was the crux of it, he realized. The life he and Catelyn had built together was so intertwined that these years of holding back the truth from her had been almost physically painful. He sought her counsel on nearly every other aspect of his life...but they had never spoke of Jon. It was completely avoided, to avoid unnecessary pain and awkwardness between them.

It hurt. It always hurt.

And yet he knew that none of what he was feeling or had felt could really compare to the range of emotions Cat must be feeling now, knowing he had lied to her.

He tried to imagine how he would feel if Catelyn had revealed a great secret after nearly seventeen years of marriage. But he couldn't imagine it, because he knew she would never do such a thing. _Family, Duty, Honor._ Those were the words his wife embodied with everything that she did. There was no room in that motto for "harbor great secret for years from the one you love most." And that was exactly what Ned had done.

Gods, the look on her face would haunt him for a long time. She had said she would forgive him, but he had never seen someone look so betrayed, so devastated. To know he was the cause of that was almost unbearable. He had wanted to tell her for so long, but to do it in that way - hurried, anxious that the children might burst in and interrupt them, and poor Catelyn having just woke up from her injuries! It was cruelty. He prayed to the gods that it would not adversely affect her healing, that she would not start shaking again. She needed her strength.  _Keep her safe while I am away. Let me return and begin to make things right. Let there be nothing but love and honesty between us, until the end of our days. And let those days be long._

"Lord Stark!" one of the men called to him from a ways ahead on the road. The sun was high in the sky now. Lost in his thoughts, Ned had fallen a bit behind the group. He kicked at his horse to speed up to his man, Kurt, who was pulling his horse in a tight circle to wait for him.

"What is it?" Ned asked.

"I stopped at that hut just a ways off the road, and asked the family living there if they had seen or heard anything. The woman told me that earlier this morning, a young man who matched Jon's description, had knocked and asked how long the ride was to the nearest inn. She also gave him some food and water, as apparently he..." Kurt stopped, embarrassed.

"Go on," Ned urged him.

"Well, I guess Jon spent last night drinking himself into his cups. The woman had actually laughed as she described the stench of wine coming off him."

Ned smiled in spite of himself and shook his head. "Perhaps he was not able to go much further, then."

"I guess we can hope for that, my lord."

Ned looked up the road and thought of Brandon and Lyanna at that moment. To take the wineskins seemed so like Brandon, who hated dealing with his emotions head on. To run off in the night seemed like Lyanna, of course. What part of him or Benjen was in Jon? Ned could see Benjen's sense of honor in Jon...but of himself? Hopefully it was the part of Ned that was always too reserved and rational to do anything without a lot of thought. And also, Ned hoped, the part that loved his family too much to go too far from home.

Ned called for the rest of the men to close in around him. He addressed them about what Kurt had learned from the lady in the hut. Then he continued, "Let us ride on, then. Let me take the lead, and if I see him, I shall signal to you. Please stay back so I may approach him alone. If it is not too much further than this from Winterfell, and as long as he does not make an attempt to run away from me, I think I would like to stay with him alone. We have much to speak of. If this happens, Kurt - will you ride with great speed to Winterfell and let the lady of the castle know that Jon has been located, and I will stay with him this evening, with plans to return tomorrow morning. The rest of you can ride comfortably back to the castle."

"My lord, should we truly leave you alone?" one of the men asked.

"As long as we are not much farther than this from Winterfell, I see no reason not too. I often stayed out in these woods as a boy, and have been in far worse circumstances lately. We will be fine, I assure you."

The men looked at each other with a sense of unease.

"But, Lord Stark, to leave you alone..."

"It is an order, men. You will not be deserting me." They still looked uncertain. Ned realized that if they did indeed return to the castle without him or Jon, there would be many questions they would be unable to answer, and they wouldn't exactly look like they were protecting their lord. He relented. "If it makes you feel better, just make camp a bit further down the road, so Jon does not notice, and we are not disturbed."

At that, they seemed to relax a bit. It warmed Ned's heart to see his men react so, especially in light of the disparaging comments the soldiers around the campfire had made toward his character while on their campaign in the north. Ned felt the respect of his men deeply.

"We ride on." Ned took the lead this time, and they rode as a group, with one man each on the outskirts of the sides of the trail, searching for signs of a break from the road.

 _Come on, Jon,_ he thought to himself. _Stop to take a rest, let us find you soon._  

Ned wanted to find his nephew alive and well. He wanted this conversation to be over soon. He wanted to get back to Cat.

Actually, he wanted it to be about five moons from now, with all of this behind them, Catelyn completely healed and smiling at him, the reality of Jon's parentage somehow all sorted out, and everything at Winterfell running smoothly.

_Ride on, Ned. Ride on. Focus. Find him._

_  
_Suddenly Kurt whistled low at him and pointed to the right of the road, where an obvious break in the shubbery indicated that someone had ridden through to the side. As he peered through the trees, Ned thought he could make out the smoke of a small fire through the woods. He conferred with Kurt, who agreed that it looked like there was a small campfire. Ned felt in his gut that this was where Jon had left the road, perhaps to sleep off the drinking from the night before. He signaled to the men, who pulled up their reins and made to wait on the road. He whispered urgently to Kurt - "if I do not return within a few minutes, please assume that I have found Jon and make back for Winterfell."

"But my lord, either you have found Jon _or_ have met an untimely injury or death. How are we to know?" Kurt interjected.

Ned chuckled in spite of himself. "Alright. If I _have_ found Jon, and not just some trapper or woodsman, I will call to you. If we are to spend a night out here, I will need some of the provisions we have brought. I will whistle and if Peet can ride toward me and deliver some food and drink. You may set up camp nearby, but let us spend the night in peace unless I ask for you?"

The men nodded. Ned took a deep breath and a last look around, then led his horse off to the right, following the hasty path made by a horse and rider. Ned had never been a great trailsman, but he peered up at where the smoke seemed to furl into the sky, and headed in that general direction, before the overhead of the trees cut it off from view.

He did not have to ride more than a few minutes before he found whom he was looking for.

Jon sat leaning up against a tree and staring at a dying fire, he had a wineskin in one hand, and a rock in the other. Ned dismounted from a few paces away, tying up his horse and then walking toward Jon. Jon never moved or even turned his head...was he sleeping? How much had he had to drink?!

Ned called softly to him.

"Jon. Jon! Jon?"

Ned was only a step behind him, still calling his name, when suddenly Jon whipped around quickly and Ned had to duck and narrowly avoided a huge rock being thrown at his face. 

"JON!" he barked in anger and fear, hearing the rock smash against the bark of a tree behind him. His horse whinnied in agitation.

"Father?" Red-rimmed eyes looked up at him in disbelief, as Jon rose up on unsteady feet, even as he was grabbing for another rock, that Ned noticed lay stock-piled next to him.

"I was calling your _name_! Who did you _think_ it was?!" Ned yelled, partly out of the fear he had felt since hearing Jon was missing, and partly out of the fear that he was about to lose an eye to the rock Jon had flung so suddenly at him.

Jon looked him straight in the eye - Ned noticed his hair, so like his own, his stare and eyes, so like his own, and his stance, so like his own, which helped him to intuit that Jon was about to bolt for his horse.

"JON!" Now he was yelling, and quickly he reached for his mirror image sprint toward the tired-looking brown steed tied up against a tree.

"rrrRAAAAH!" Jon grunted as he dodged out of the way of Ned's hands, moving more quickly than was good for him, he realized, belatedly, as he leapt for the reins of his horse.

"Jon!" Ned felt more emotion in his voice than he wanted to lend it. "STOP. Jon. Stop. Stop....." Ned sighed and saw Jon slow his movements. "It does not matter where you go, Jon. You will not find her. _Please_ \- stay. Let me tell you." He leaned heavily against the tree, hoping the boy would stop and turn back to him.

Jon stilled against the body of his horse, foot in the stirrup.

He turned slowly to Ned, and looked directly into Ned's eyes.

Ned drew a sharp breath. _Gods. So much like Lyanna. So much like Brandon. So much like...me._

"Jon," he began again. "Please. I have so much to explain."

It was probably only moments, but they passed like hours, before Jon brought his foot down from the stirrup, and bleary-eyed, leaned back up against the tree where Ned had first spied him.

Ned walked slowly toward the fire, laying another log on it for light and warmth in the dying sun. He whistled low in the direction of his men, hoping they would hear and heed his earlier words, and then leaned up against a trunk across the flames from Jon, trying to gather his thoughts, and praying he would find the right words to say what he had always wanted, and yet never wanted to reveal...


	20. Chapter 20

Ned watched Jon, noting the stains of wine down his doublet, and even on his breeches. His teeth were tinted purple, and his glassy eyes seemed unfocused. He had clearly drank most of the night away.

"You do not look paticularly well, Jon."

"I do not _feel_  particularly well," Jon agreed with a grimace. The sharp movement he had taken toward his horse had made his stomach roll, and he clutched his hands against it as if it might help quell the feeling.

"Did you grab as much food last night as you did wine, before you decided to run off? How many empty wineskins might I find amoung you?" Ned asked pointedly, though amused.

Jon made a pained face. "Please, Father. Do not speak about wine."

Ned chuckled. "Alright. I won't." _Although_ , he thought to himself, _a little wine might help **me** through this conversation._ He had signaled to his men, but could not hear them coming. Perhaps they had not heard him. It might be better if he rode to meet them, instead of one of them startling Jon in his state.

"Jon, do I have your word you will not run off, if I leave you for a moment to go and retrieve some things?"

Jon looked up. "Things from where? From Winterfell?"

"No, we are too far from that. I have a small company of men with me, but I would speak to you alone tonight. I just want to let them know you are alright, and acquire some food and drink for us. But you must not run off."

Jon swayed in thought, and then nodded in agreement. It truly looked as if it would pain him physically to go anywhere at the moment. Ned stifled a smile and quickly mounted his horse, riding a ways back to the road toward his men, who looked more than a little relieved to see him all right, and very happy to hear Jon was alive and....well enough. After securing some meats, breads, cheese and ale, as well as a waterskin and wineskin, Ned tied the bundles to the bedroll behind his saddle and gave instructions for them to camp nearby, and he would meet them in the morning. Kurt dispatched himself to Winterfell with the news, with instructions to first find and tell Robb and ask him to tell his mother, and then let the Maester know. Ned knew that most of the castle would be aware that Jon had run off in the night, as the Stark family and some of the guards had been searching frantically, but he wanted to keep the matter as quiet as possible. For he knew a part of Jon that was very much like himself - the part that hated attention of any kind.

His men looked happy to know their lord and his bastard were safe, and that their only duty was to spend the night under the stars, just a few hours' ride from home on the morrow. He bid them a good night and observed the sun dipping lower in the sky. He did not fear to spend a night out in these woods with Jon - in truth, he had always loved that aspect of being a soldier, or whenever he traveled to visit his bannermen. He felt connected to the lands of Winterfell, felt connected to the stars, and enjoyed sitting around a fire with men, passing the wineskin and laughing into the night. He prayed his conversation with Jon would go well...that the gods would guide his words...

Jon was right where he had left him, throwing pebbles into the fire, staring at the flames.

"Here," Ned said as he threw a loaf of bread into Jon's lap. "There's some ale as well."

Jon looked up at him, bewildered. "You can't be serious." Ned grunted. "Father, I am certain I have had more than enough to drink. Perhaps for a lifetime."

"Perhaps, but a bit more to drink will make you feel better, I promise. I have heard it called "the hair of the dog" or "the scale of the dragon that burned you." It is a trick I learned from Robert Baratheon - a master drinker if there ever was one. I know it sounds like the last thing you would ever want, but it will ease your pain."

Jon looked uneasily at the bread and mug before him, and then back at Ned. "But I never see you drinking much at all. How would you know it works?"

Ned nodded at the truth in his words. "Well, there might have been some days in my youth I woke up after a rough night and looked and felt as you did, Jon. But once I had to become Lord of Winterfell...it did not seem right to drink too much and behave in ways men might when they do...and then blame it on something they consumed willingly. Some mornings, Robert did not even remember what he had done the night before. Which could be entertaining, but...certainly not lordlike." Ned almost smiled, as a few memories in particular came to mind.

"Robert Baratheon. They say he has bastards all over the kingdom. Did you learn bastard-making as well as drinking from your friend?" Jon asked casually, as he bit off a chunk of bread and chewed slowly, eyeing Ned.

Now Ned knew Jon was truly ripped from his night of drinking - he never spoke so disrespectfully.

Ned sighed deeply. He grabbed some of the meat and bread and a skin of wine for himself before sitting down. He felt Jon's eyes on his movements, but did not speak until he was seated across the fire. He wanted to look Jon in the eyes as they spoke, man to man. He took a big swallow of wine and prayed for courage.

"Jon...I have thought about this conversation for years. I know that you have wanted to know about your mother since, well, since you knew what a mother was. I have wanted you to know, as well, but...there have been so many reasons why I could not tell you."

"Lady Stark, was it? She has made no secret of her dislike of me." Jon threw another pebble into the fire.

Ned winced at the mention of his wife. "No, she is not to blame for this. I am the only one to blame."

"Then who is she? Or was she? Gods - I don't even know if she is alive or dead! Where she lives? Is she a whore, a lady, a camp follower? I know nothing."

Ned swallowed and tilted his head for a moment, as if willing the moment to pass and this would never have to happen. But he knew it must. In the end, he took a quick sip of wine, sighed again, and finally spoke. "It was my sister, Lyanna." He looked up at Jon in apprehension. "Your mother is my sister."

Jon looked horrified for a moment, and it took Ned a second to realize why.

"Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen. Not _me_ , gods, Jon!" Ned almost laughed, but realized he had not been specific.

Jon's face relaxed a fraction.

"Do you mean...your sister was my mother...but.....but I am not your son? You are not my father at all?"

Ned looked directly at Jon before answering, and did not break eye contact as he spoke. "No, Jon. I am sorry to tell you that." Ned noticed Jon's eyes begin to water a little. "Jon, you must know I have been proud of the man you have become. I _am_ proud of you. And it pains me that you will never know your mother, my sister. And she would have been proud, too."

Jon's breaths were shallow, and his eyes darted across the flames of the fire. Ned took another swig of wine, waiting until Jon was ready to speak, knowing he was processing this in his mind, as Starks usually did. Jon knew his history - he would know about Brandon and Rickard Stark, he would know about the tourney and that Rhaegar had crowned Lyanna over his wife, and he would know she had disappeared shortly afterwards. He would also know that Ned had fought to rescue her in a tower, but that she had died in his arms. These were not things Ned had ever told his children, but they were known things. Ned could practially see the wheels turning in Jon's mind as he thought about the timing of it all, and what it meant.

"So...when you went to rescue your sister...she was..."

"Dying. She died in my arms." Now Ned's eyes seemed faraway as they gazed at the fire, remembering.... _gods...Lya..._

"Of childbirth?" Jon asked, worry and the ever-present guilt lacing his words. "Was it bringing me into this world - "

"No, Jon. You were a wee babe, with a nurse. Lyanna had fever and had been coughing blood and gods know what else she was suffering. Perhaps some things from childbirth, but that was not what took her. It was war - there was no one to tend to the women, locked up in that damned tower. They barely had enough food and water, no clean clothes. Gods." Ned reached for the wineskin again, the pain of the memories making him want something to dull the ache, if only for awhile, if only to help him speak more freely about things he wished had never happened at all. "I held her, we had just moments...she begged me to protect you, to keep you safe from Robert and his bloody quest." 

"She asked you to make me a bastard?"

"No, but she made me promise to keep you safe, and there were not many options. I could have sent you away, I suppose, but probably never been able to know you. You would have been kept from Winterfell, or out of Westeros completely, for your safety, because you would pose a threat to the crown otherwise."

Ned watched as Jon again processed this information, his eyes reflecting the flames more now that the sun had truly set in the sky.

"Because of what had been done to the Targaryen children..."

Ned nodded. "It was easy enough to pass you off as my own, as you look so much like a Stark. And it is not uncommon for men to have bastards, especially during war. So I brought you home, to raise with Robb, to keep safe within the walls of Winterfell."

Jon looked up suddenly, with a queer look on his face ."You never told Lady Stark, did you?"

"No," Ned shook his head. "Not until last night, when we discovered you missing and the note that you left. She believed the lie I have been telling her and all of Westeros for the last sixteen years."

"I do not suppose she took the news well."

"No," Ned replied, a little surprised that Jon was speaking about Catelyn. "No, she did not."

"Well," Jon said, leaning back against the trunk of the tree and throwing the last of his handful of pebbles into the fire in anger or spite, Ned could not tell. Jon continued, "It seems she and I finally have something in common then."

 

*       *         *         *          * 

 

"A rider!" Bran called from the ramparts of Winterfell. "Robb - a rider approaches!" He leapt nimbly down the walls of the castle, reaching the floor in time to see Kurt and his horse sweep into the courtyard through the opening doors.

"Where is Robb, Bran?" he asked without ceremony, as he reined in his frothing steed in the courtyard.

"I am here! What news?" Robb ran up from the stables, where he had been pacing most of the day.

"Lord Robb, your father has found Jon. He is well. They are spending the night out in the woods, and should be back tomorrow morning. Your father asked you to convey this message to your lady mother, and your siblings as well."

"Thank you, ser!" Robb allowed an excited embrace from Bran, bid him to tell Rickon, and then went to tell his sisters and mother the good news.

Bran ran off to find Rickon, but Robb ran first to the sept, where he knew Sansa had just gone to pray. Whispering loudly from the entrance, "Sansa!" he beckoned her over to him. "They have found Jon! Father will be home tomorrow! Will you go and tell Arya? I think she is hiding within the stables."

"Oh, Robb!" Sansa flung herself at him, as he knew she would. He gave her a fierce hug, laughing, and then tugged her braid playfully as she wiped a tear from her eyes. Then he took off running toward his mother's bedchambers.

 

*       *         *         *          * 

 

"Arya? Arya!" Sansa called into the stables. She did not receive an answer, but kept talking all the same, knowing her sister would often find hiding places Sansa knew nothing about. "Arya - I have good news! They have found Jon! Father is with him now!"

Once she said those words, she noticed the floorboards above the horses' stalls creaking loudly, and then Arya's head peeking over the edge. "Have they? And he is alright?"

"Yes! But what are you doing up there? It is so dirty! You are kicking dust on me!" Sansa wiped furiously at her hair and dress, as Arya unceremoniously hiked up her skirts over her arm and quickly climbed down the ladder, jumping to land in front of Sansa.

"Who told you?" she demanded. "How do you know?"

Sansa coughed purposefully and waved at the dust Arya brought with her, before speaking. "There was a rider, Robb found me praying in the sept," Arya raised an eyebrow at that. "I just wanted to ask all possible gods, to pray on behalf of Mother, too," Sansa explained. "Anyway, Robb said that a rider had come, and Father is with Jon now, and they will return in the morning. Robb has gone to tell Mother, I think. Oh, I am so glad!"

Sansa almost reached to hug her sister, but remembered herself. Arya noticed the movement, but did not comment; she just dropped quickly to the ground and hugged her knees, rocking softly to herself. 

"Oh, I am so glad Father found him. I hope they return early in the morning. I have been so worried."

Sansa smiled at her sister. "Of _course_ Father found him. I should go back to the sept, and thank Mother's gods. And then back to the godswood, as well..." her voice trailed off, and Arya looked up at her older sister. Sometimes, Sansa acted far too old and superior.

"Don't bother thanking Mother's gods. I'm sure they weren't trying very hard on her behalf for Jon's return," she scoffed at Sansa's piety.

"Arya! What a cruel thing to say!" Sansa looked shocked.

She felt a little bit ashamed, but Arya continued anyway. "It's true! You _know_ Mother hates Jon! We _all_ know it!"

"That's awful, Arya! Do not say such things. Mother does not truly hate Jon. She could not hate anyone! She is a lady!" Sansa shook her head and placed her hands on her hips, taking a physical stance against such unpleasant and unwelcome thoughts.

Arya was unconvinced.

"Perhaps," she drew out, "but she still dislikes Jon. I don't see why. I feel so terrible for him sometimes. He doens't even _have_ a mother! It's not fair! I wish he were home right now so I could tell him so." Arya stuck out a finger and began drawing circles and spirals and nothings into the dust and hay that floored the stables.

Sansa looked around for a moment, before carefully tucking her skirt up and plopping herself down as gracefully as she could onto the floor of the barn. Arya clearly needed an older sister right now, and though they did not often share moments such as these, with her mother still recovering and her father away rescuing their brother, Sansa felt duty call her, and she would respond as best she could.

"Oh, Arya," she sighed, a bit too dramatically. Arya gave her a sideways glace, and Sansa was startled at how much the movement reminded her of their mother. The realization startled her out of the overly adult tone she would have taken.

"I know it can be hard to see how Mother looks at Jon, but..." Arya looked up at her hopefully. Sansa scrunched her face in concentration. "But...I think there is more to it than we know. I don't know. I love Jon as my brother, but I cannot imagine how hard it must be for Mother that we all love him so. That Father loves him so."

"What do you mean?" Arya asked.

"Well..." Sansa began. "Do you know what it means that Jon is Father's bastard? I mean...do you know how a babe is made?"

Arya nodded slowly, but did not make eye contact. Sansa, wiser than she let on sometimes, surmised that Arya did not truly know what it meant for a man and woman to lie together and make a child. She must speak carefully here.

"Well..." she began. "Well, when Mother told me about it, after I cried at what Septa Mordane had said - "

"What did she say to make you cry?!" Arya was eager for some juicy gossip about Septa Mordane. Sansa stifled a laugh.

"Septa told me about men and women laying together to make children. She told me how it hurt the maiden, but that men enjoyed it, and so it was our duty to...lay with them whenever they wanted, no matter what. This is because ladies must produce heirs, and all women want children. But I ran to Mother crying about the idea of the pain, and told her I had decided I did not want to marry after all, and did not want children. But, of course, I _do_  want to marry and I _do_  want children. Just not the pain of them. I was so upset that it might be painful, you see."

Arya nodded vigorously. Sansa continued.

"Anyway...Mother told me that if a husband and a wife love each other, there might be discomfort at first, but then it is a lovely thing to lay with your husband, and not just because you might make children. That you can...have great pleasure, I think were her words. That the wife would even come to enjoy it, very much. I remember she blushed when she spoke of it - I could see her in the mirror as she braided my hair. But then I asked her why, then, had Septa told me such lies. But Mother said that Septa had never married, but Mother had, and so she knew best, but perhaps Septa had not lied, exactly. Because some women do not have husbands they love as much as Mother loves Father, and laying together might not be very comfortable at all. That is why lords and ladies have seperate bedchambers."

"But Father always sleeps in Mother's bedchambers."

"I know."

Arya raised her eyebrows, thinking through this new information. "All right..." she said, slowly. "But what has this to do with Father and Jon?"

"Well, don't you see - it means that Father must have loved another woman very much, even when he was married to Mother. And he and this woman made a child, which takes some effort, and time, and certainly feelings. And the child was Jon, and Father brought Jon to live here with us."

"Yes, so he could be with his brothers and sisters and be in Winterfell," Arya reasoned.

"But you are skipping all sorts of things! Don't you see what that must feel like for Mother? It means Father has loved someone else! Enough to lay with her, make a babe!" Sansa countered. 

Arya stilled. Her finger paused over her swirls in the dirt.

Sansa continued in Arya's serious silence. "I do not know when I realized it, but sometime, a while ago, I realized that every time Mother saw Jon, which is every day, and more than once, she must be reminded that Father loved another woman so much that he would shame Mother and himself in bringing Jon here. And I realized that Mother must love Father, and must love us all, more than we can understand, to keep loving him in spite of that.

She doesn't hate Jon. She hates that Father has loved someone else."

 

*       *         *         *          * 

 

Catelyn had turned restlessly all day in bed, watching the sun crawl across the sky and begin its early descent. The sun always set earlier in Winterfell than it did in Riverrun. It had taken her years to understand the amount of candles required at this castle, in contrast to the amount of natural light they always had at Riverrun.

She had gazed at the passing clouds, rubbing her free hand absent-mindedly at the bandages encasing her broken arm, wondering when she might be able to use it again.

As they had every few minutes since Bran and Rickon had woken and kissed her and hugged her and then left to find their siblings, Catelyn's thoughts turned to her husband, wondering where he was and what he was doing. She reached under her pillow for the folded parchment and read the note again, trying to draw strength and hope from Ned's words.

 _He loves me. I know he loves me. He has loved me a long time,_ she thought.

 _And I love him. I love him desperately. I love our lives together._   _Oh, why did he have to lie? Why?_

She felt the tears creeping and bit her lip to keep them at bay. She did not want to cry any more. The children would be back soon from their lessons, where Catelyn had insisted they go after breaking their fast with her in her bedchambers. Catelyn was still too weak to do more than sip the teas Jessa and the Maester brought her - it had only been a day since she had awakened from her dreamless sleep - but the Maester said that in a few days, she might be able to try walking to the Great Hall for meals, assisted by her sons and hopefully her husband, gods willing he returned soon.

And when he did?

Catelyn could only think that he would find Jon quickly, tell him the tale of his true heritage, and bring him home. What would happen next, Catelyn was not sure. She and Ned would needs discuss how to address the children about the matter, and if they should tell the people of Winterfell, when and how she could tell her family...

Catelyn could remember how angry her brother and uncle were when she had written them news of Ned's bastard. Lysa had been strangely silent at first, but then bitter and biting about it in the end, and so Catelyn had stopped writing her. But she could remember Edmure and her uncle demanding explanations and defending her honor. Hadn't one of them suggested a duel at one point? She almost smiled at the memory. Her father's advice had been to try and move on, and above all, bear more children.

Well, she had certainly done her duty in that respect. Five. Five children. One bastard. But five of the North...plus the one who did not make it...

Catelyn kept that deep within her heart. She had five beautiful, living, strong children, though none of the children had ever looked as much like Ned as Jon did. That had always bothered Catelyn, as hard as she fought against those feelings. Now to know that Jon was Lyanna's child and not directly of Ned...it still did nothing to assuage that particular point of pain for her.

Ned had been right about one thing - if King Robert found out about Jon's true parents, it would only bring trouble. Not just for Jon, but potentially for all of them. Catelyn could not imagine the consequences of that knowledge coming to light. Would Robert be so cruel as to demand Jon's head from his best friend? Even with her indifference to Jon, Catelyn shuddered at the thought of the pain that Ned would feel if Robert ever found out, for it was certain there would be conflict. Perhaps battles and war, and Catelyn could not abide more war in her life. She was tired of parting with the men she loved, and praying for days and moons for their return.

No, the world must not know about Jon. That would be foolish.

Would Ned expect her to accept Jon into the family? Would Jon expect to be treated differently? She had spent years ignoring him...how could such a habit be broken? Would Jon expect to be able to tumble into her bedchambers with the rest of the children, climbing into bed, begging for stories as they had this morning? Catelyn could not imagine being truly comfortable with the notion.

Jon had spoken of wanting to join Benjen at the Wall and take the Black of the Night's Watch. Catelyn prayed he might still want to do that. He could find honor there, rise in the ranks. And it would certainly be more convenient for Catelyn, though the children would miss Jon. 

Gods, what would _their_ reaction be? They had always thought of Jon as a true brother, and she did not expect their feelings towards him to change. But she feared how they would react towards their father, knowing he had lied to them all for so long. And they would feel not only for themselves, but for her, as well.

Robb, so devoted to her and yet devoted to Jon. Catelyn could already see him, trying to remain calm, yet desperately trying to make sense of it all.

Sansa, who loved romance and tales of knights and ladies, and who worshipped her parents and loved the stories Catelyn would tell her of Ned building the sept just for her, or the first time he brought her flowers, or how he had played with them all as babes. Catelyn recalled how Sansa had giggled with girlish delight when Catelyn had confided in her with the plan to make the Northern tradition of first fruits cake for Ned for their wedding day anniversary.

And their wolfpup Arya, whose strict sense of wrong and right would be so thrown in this situation. Her dear child who always wanted justice, wanted things to be fair...but in a situation like this, with so many layers to understand?

Her dear Bran, who watched the world with a wisdom more suited to one many years older. Would he react at all, or simply find somewhere to climb off to and think?

Then there was Rickon, just a babe still in Catelyn's eyes, who had yet to learn exactly what a "bastard" was.

Catelyn could remember with painful clarity the conversations she had had with each of her children at one point or another to explain what a bastard was and what that meant about their father.

Sometimes she would be so angry with Ned that he never even knew about these discussions, but she had wanted to spare him as well and assure the children that he loved them, he loved her, and they were a family.

And sometimes Ned could be hard for the children to read, as much as she had come to understand every nuance of his facial expressions and tone of voice. So she took control into her own hands, and proactively spoke with each child when they reached an age she felt they needed to understand what it meant that Jon was their brother but...different. She would explain as gently, honestly, and respectfully as she could in regards to her husband.

But the children always had questions.

"So, he was married before you, Mother? No? But then...but how...."

"But Father _loves_ you! How terrible of him! What? Why?"

"Wait - Jon has no mother? _You_ are not his mother? But...he is my brother..."

"But he looks just like Father! But he does not look like you...oh, I see. But..."

"Why would Father do that? Is it because you were supposed to marry his brother?"

"Was Father mad at you? Are you mad at Father?"

"So, who _is_ Jon's mother?"

The questions from the children had always ended with the same one Catelyn had asked the most herself: _Who was this woman who had brought such discord into their lives?_

Well, now she had the answer, but not the satisfaction she had thought it might bring. She had imagined possibly fighting with Ned about it, or sending some serving girl away from Winterfell, or comparing her face to another's...something physical, something tangible, something concrete to focus her energy and hate and despair and every other feeling she had felt against.

But now the only thing to hate was the lie. She could not hate Ned for what he did for his sister's sake. And she didn't hate Jon - it was closer to indifference and coldness...absence of feeling. There was no woman really to hate - how could she hate a dead 15 year old girl? Blame, yes, she could lay some blame to all these characters. But...it was not satisfying.

She would not even get the satisfaction of the world knowing that her husband had never strayed. A part of her longed to stand on the ramparts at King's Landing and shout to all who had mocked or pitied her in public or in private - "See?! My husband has been faithful! There was never another woman! He had been true to me. He loves me. He loves me."

But she could not do that. She was not sure if she could tell anyone. She must speak with Ned first. But even as she anticipated his arrival, she dreaded the conversations they must have upon his return.

She just felt pain. She felt betrayal. _Ned, my sweet, beloved Ned. How could you have done this for so long? What I have suffered...what I have made you suffer because of it..._

Words Catelyn had said to him in anger over the years came flashing back at her. The things she had said...yet he had kept his promise to his sister, which she had to honor.

This was not fair.

Gods! Had they not just made passionate love to each other against the door of her bedchamber, on the floor, in the morning, again in his solar room? That felt like moments ago to Catelyn, despite knowing she had been asleep to the world for four days since.

It had taken years to build that deep physical connection with each other, but once they had found it, gods they had enjoyed it, explored it. Sometimes exploited it. Catelyn could remember a time years ago, though she could recall not the exact cause of the argument, but in the uncomfortable aftermath, not yet able to apologize, seeking him out in the courtyard, purposefully pulling him by the hand into a nearby hallway, and kissing him until he kissed back, kissing him until they were both breathless in apology, whispering of more to come that night in her bedchamber. Or how Ned had figured out, through trial and error, that the quickest way to earn her forgiveness was to kiss along her collarbone and neck, murmuring words of promise into her ear, and skirting his fingers against her bodice until her body betrayed her and arched up into his.

Their apologies would be accepted among twisted sheets and groans of pleasure, and the worries of the day would be lost in the way he would pull her hair back, drag his mouth along her throat, grunting her name and demanding her to find release against him.

And afterwards, her head on his chest, drawing lazy circles in the curly hair that grew there, her thighs still tingling as they folded into his so that her toes, ever cold, could find warmth under his strong legs...nothing ever seemed important enough to continue fighting over, when they could be so happy together as that.

But this was different, Cat knew. Ned felt it deeply, she knew that, too.

She missed her husband. He must come home quickly, so they might being to create their lives anew. She could not stand much more of the hours alone, wondering what their marriage would look like in light of his revelations to her.

Just then, Catelyn heard a knock at the door, and Robb walked inside when she called to enter.

"Mother," he said gently, coming to sit on the chair at her bed and drawing her hand in his. "There was a rider. They have found Jon. Father will make camp with him tonight, and we can expect them tomorrow morning. All will be well."

He smiled at her, clearly excited at the news. Though her heart fell to know her husband would be gone at least another night, Catelyn smiled bravely back at him.

"I am glad for you, Robb. And your father, of course. I am sure you were both so worried about Jon." Robb nodded, but looked at her blankly. "And...and your siblings. Arya, especially, must have been out of her mind thinking of him gone off in the night." She stroked his hand.

A shadow passed over Robb's face.

"But _you_ weren't, Mother, were you. I should not have bothered you."

"Oh, Robb...no...do not say that," she said softly, but was unsure how to continue. She grasped at his hand that was prying itself from hers. He bit his lip and was silent for a few moments.

"He is a brother to me, Mother. How can you hate him so?"

"Robb!" Catelyn cried. "I do not _hate_ Jon. I do not! I would never wish him ill."

"I have seen how you look at him sometimes, we all have."

"Robb Stark," she said sharply, and then coughed for several moments against her will. She signaled to Robb for the cup of tea at her bedside, which he brought to her lips quickly. She swallowed gratefully, her eyes not leaving Robb's, whose eyes would not meet hers. "I do not think you mean your words to me right now."

Robb seemed to collect himself then, and colored slightly in shame. "I am sorry, Mother - "

"I know you are," she said, simply, cutting him off. "You are tired and worried, and I cannot imagine all you have been through as of late. But when you speak of Jon and...myself...you are speaking of things you do not know the extent of, and it is not fair of you, Robb. And I would not have you think ill of me. Please, Robb. Please."

She fell back against the pillows, feeling how physically weak she was, but continued softly.

"I _am_ glad he has been found; I know your father has much to speak about with him. I will be happy when they are both home, safe and sound. Truly."

He looked down at where his hand held hers, contrite.

"I should not have said those things. You are right that it has been a lot of worry these past few days...even in the last months, with Father gone. But it is no excuse. I know you do not think that way, and it is terrible of me to cause you grief, especially when you need your strength to get better. I am sorry, Mother."

She smiled and he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Have you told your siblings, and Maester Luwin?"

"I found Sansa, Arya, Bran went to tell Rickon. I will go to Maester now. Can I bring you anything? Do you need anything before I go?"

"No, sweetling. Will you just place another log on the fire for me? I think I must rest for a bit."

Robb placed another log on the fire, stoking the ones that remained there to light it up again. Catelyn watched her son - _gods, he looks like Ned when he does that_ \- and could feel the warm glow on her face after a few moments.

"Thank you, Robb."

"Of course, Mother. We will visit you later, after supper?"

She nodded, and he smiled softly as he left her sight and she heard the clicking of the door shut.

The drapes had not been drawn against the closed windows, and Catelyn could see dusk approaching Winterfell in stages where her windows looked out over the castle. Stars were twinkling brightly in the sky. She had always loved to watch the stars, or the sky in any form.

The conversation with Robb left her troubled...but it also made her think of the conversations yet to come between not only herself and Ned, but with Jon, and perhaps with the rest of the children about Jon's true parentage. What would be the right course to take? Should they be told? Could it be kept a secret?

She was so tired. She reached under her pillow for the note Ned had left in her hands, wanting to read its words again.

_Watching you sleep now - you are so beautiful, Cat. I hate having to leave you. It never gets easier. I love you more than I could ever say. I hope it is some small comfort to know that there has never been another woman for me. There could never be anyone but you._

_Please forgive me. I will be home soon. I will miss you at each moment. I miss you now, as you sleep._

_  
_She supposed there was a small comfort in those words. She missed him, too. They had been together only hours, it seemed, before he had gone off to find his bastard - no, his nephew. This would take time to sort out.

_I will miss you at each moment._

_  
_Ned was rarely so sentimental. It made her smile and feel young and beautiful for a moment. She tucked the note back under her pillow. Catelyn closed her eyes and slept.


	21. Chapter 21

She woke slowly to her name being whispered, and a soft pressure on her hand.

"Cat...Cat..."

It took considerable effort to shift and open her eyes toward the sound, but she was rewarded with her husband's grey eyes looking intently upon her face, an unrestrained smile on his lips.

"Husband...you are home," she drawled thickly, still half asleep, drawing her good hand away from his and to her face to rub some feeling back into it. When sleep had finally found her last night, she had slept deeply.

"Gone for only a night, and look how quickly they move to replace me," he smiled back, nodding at the tiny figures that lay beside her.

Catelyn turned to see Bran, Rickon, and Arya curled up in the bed beside her, and she suddenly remembered why her husband had gone off and left an empty space in her bed in the first place.

Ned could see a change sweep over her expression.

"The children are still used to you being away in the North, I suppose. And they were upset at Jon's disappearance," she returned.

Ned's eyebrows raised at her change of tone, noticing how her body seemed to stiffen.

"And still anxious for your well-being, too, my love."

"mm-hmm," she muttered, non-commitally.

"Cat - "

She moved, quicker than she ought, to push herself up upon the pillows to look at him more properly.

"Cat! Your arm!" He hissed in alarm.

In truth, the movement hurt her quite a bit, but an emotion she did not want to name prevented her from showing him any weakness at the moment.

"I am fine, Ned." She brushed away at his comment. "Tell me - how was the search for Jon Snow?"

He looked at her curiously. All he wanted to do was to shuck his boots and crawl into the tiny space available in the bed next to her, fold himself upon her frame and sleep until tomorrow, forgetting anything had ever happened.

He was not sure what to tell her about his talk with Jon; the son that now knew he was his nephew. Which would change everything and yet maybe nothing at all.

"My love, should we not wait, until...?" he looked meaningfully at the sleeping bodies beside her. She glanced at the figures of their children and realized he was probably right - this was not a good conversation to have right now, when it might be overheard and misunderstood.

She nodded at him. He leaned slightly over her to press a kiss to her forehead, whispering against her as he did "Let me try and make things well again, Cat." He pressed another kiss, and as he pulled back, thought he could see a tear just beginning to glisten in her eyes as she glanced sideways to avoid his.

"I will go bathe and dress, and join you again shortly." 

She nodded at him and he left for his bedchambers.

 _I can do this. I will forgive him. It will not be easy,_ she thought, as she looked down on her sleeping children. _But it is necessary._

_*         *           *             *             *_

_  
_It is an amazing thing, to let your body sink into a tub of water. Ned sighed as he leaned his head back against the frame of the tub, feeling the hot water already easing at his aching muscles. When had he last bathed? He had taken a quick wash before the banquet right when he returned...but that was it. A week, it seemed. Dirt seemed caked to his body from the two days in the woods, searching for and finding Jon. Ned could smell the smoke from the campfire in his hair, and ducked his head under the water to try and rinse it out.

Jon. As many times as Ned had imagined the conversation over the years where he would reveal Jon's true parentage to him, he had not been prepared for the haunted look in his eye when Jon realized that his mother had been dead nearly his whole life, and that Ned was not his father after all. Ned had not really considered the fact that Jon had been hopeful to one day meet and possibly have a relationship with whomever his mother was.  When he thought about the relationship and love his own children bore for their mother, he supposed that it was only natural for Jon to desire that, and he felt even more guilty that it could never be so. To the boy's credit, he seemed completely unphased that although he was the rightful heir to the throne, for his own safety and for the safety of those he loved, no one could ever truly know. Most boys would have been thrilled to know such things, and the knowledge might change them. But Jon was not most boys. He was more man than boy. He had been since a very young age.

Ned reflected over parts of their conversation as he let himself relax against the tub.

"So...will we tell the others?" Jon had wanted to know. "Should they know that they are not truly my siblings? Or would it hurt them as much as it hurts me to know that?" He had kept throwing pebbles and bits of forest into the fire as he spoke, not making eye contact with Ned, no matter what the question.

"Jon - they will always be your brothers and sisters. Nothing could change their love for you, nor mine. I look at you as a son, and always will."

"I cannot keep this from Robb."

"I would not ask that of you. But the others...may be too young to yet understand. And probably too young to keep the secret themselves."

Jon had nodded.

The words were hard for Ned. It was difficult to see Jon in pain. He was grateful for the truth to be known to his nephew, but that didn't lessen the hurt and betrayal he saw in his eyes - much like what he had seen in Catelyn's. He frowned at the thought of his wife recovering in the castle, alone with her thoughts at the moment. He did not like to think of how she might be torturing herself over them. They would leave at first light. But first, he had to ask something of Jon.

"I know I ask much of you - to keep this secret, and to know that I have hidden the truth from you. And I will not ask you to not be angry at me. Gods know I would be." Jon had finally looked up at him then. "I wish things could have been different for you, in a lot of ways. We cannot change the past, son. And I do not know what the future will hold."

"Winter, of course," Jon interjected.

Ned laughed drily. "Yes. Winter is coming. But Jon - I hope you can forgive me in time. I did what I thought was right - I loved my sister, and I love you. You are my blood."

Jon looked away then. They sat in silence, looking at the fire, Ned drinking more wine, Jon kicking at the ground at his feet.

"I'm sorry about the rock," Jon finally said.

Ned had to smile. "What were you thinking? You nearly took my head clean off."

"I do not know. I felt so sick I could barely think! I had to pull off the road and sleep the wine off, and armed myself with rocks to keep bandits away, I guess?"

"Are there gangs of robbers in the woods of Winterfell you know about but I do not? Bandits that know your name, as well?" Ned joked.

"Oh, gods. I still feel sick. Theon. He will pay for this."

Ned laughed heartily. "I'm sure it was all his doing."

"Perhaps not. I am at least partially responsible. But oh, I feel like needles are pressing behind my eyeballs and I am certain I would lose last night's dinner if I got back on the horse tonight."

Ned grinned at Jon, grateful that he had decided to break the tension. It was not outright forgiveness, but it was something.

"Hair of the dog, Jon. Trust me. Drink that ale. Chew the bread slowly. Heal yourself, son."

Jon looked at him sharply at the word "son." Ned nodded back at him, and then rose to put another log on the fire before rolling out two sleeping mats for them.

"We will not leave until the morning. I hope you can find your manhood again by then," Ned teased.

They had talked about nothing for a while longer, and finally drifted off to sleep. Ned had toed him awake before the sun had started rising, and after gathering the small group of his men, their packs lightened of all wine and ale but seemingly no worse for the wear, they rode hard for Winterfell. The journey had passed much more quickly this time, without having to search the sideroads for Jon.

Ned's heart had been at his throat until he was at Cat's bedside, eager to wake her but nervous all the same.

He would make this well. They would get through this, he knew. They must.

 

*      *        *       *        *

 

Ned dressed quickly after his bath and went down to the Great Hall to see the children at breakfast. As he walked into the room, he remembered the banquet Catelyn had prepared to celebrate their return from the campaigns in the North. He smiled to himself, thinking of her twirling on the dance floor, finding him at the windows, and then the passionate love they had made after racing up to her room.

"Father!" Sansa cried, running into his arms. "You found Jon! I knew you would!" He held her for a moment, kissing her on top of her head. He smiled over at Robb, who was already laughing with Jon over biscuits and weak ale, which Jon was refusing to drink. Bran and Rickon looked up at their brothers adoringly, trying to understand the conversation. No one else in the Hall seemed to look at Jon or make much fuss at all. Ned was hopeful that the whole incident could soon be forgotten.

But where was Arya?

"Sansa, where is your sister?"

Sansa rolled her eyes. "I don't know, off getting into trouble somewhere I suppose. Although it is strange of her to miss a meal...shall I go look for her?"

"No," he answered distractedly. "I am sure she will arrive shortly."

"Yes, well. We're all back together again, and Mother will be well soon! What a wonderful morning." Sansa smiled and then returned to her seat, full of the optimism of seven young girls in the body of one. Ned loved that about her - she always believed in the best in everything. He hoped she was right. He sat down with his family to eat the morning meal, and then made to walk quickly to Cat's chambers. But something made him pause, and before he knew exactly what he was doing, he was walking to glass gardens that grew the crops for Winterfell. They also contained some flowers.

Elston, the man who had worked the gardens as long as Ned could remember, was tending to them this morning.

"My lord! What brings you here, ser?"

Suddenly, Ned felt very foolish. He had revealed a fifteen year lie to the woman he loved more than anything in the world, had run off for two days to chase down his runaway nephew, she had been lying unconscious for four days before that due to injuries brought by a horse ride she had taken to make him a cake in honor of their wedding day anniversary....and he thought he might smooth it over with some flowers?

He realized Elston was calling to him as he was lost in thought. 

"My lord? My lord?! Is there something amiss?"

Ned shook off his thoughts. Flowers would not fix it. But he wanted to bring them to her, because he wanted to bring them to her.

 

He stood at the door to her bedchambers, suddenly apprehensive. Why did he feel like he should knock?

He opened the door slowly, without noise, and heard voices within.

"Are you sure, Mother? Does the Maester think this is all right?"

"Yes, milady...are you certain you are up for it? I know we have rewrapped the arm, but I would not want -"

"I thank you both for your attentions, but believe me when I say I want nothing more than to be seated next to the fire. I will not run down the stairs when you turn your back. I just want to sit here. I assure you I am fine."

He walked in the room to see Arya and Jessa carefully guiding Catelyn, who must have also bathed this morning and was dressed in an actual dress and not a nightgown, over to a seat by the fire. Her hair was loose, flowing over her back and shoulders to dry. Jessa held her injured arm carefully, and Arya wore a look of deep concern on her face.

Catelyn's mouth was set in a grim line - sheer determination was moving her from the bed to the chair. He wanted to call out to chastise her, but knew she would not have it. This same woman had defied the Maester's predictions for recovery after every childbirth and illness - she simply could not stand to be idle, even when her body might need it. Her spirit demanded movement and independence.

There was a lot to say about the legendary stubborness of a Tully.

Her gown was a dark blue - and had her injured arm not been rewrapped and fashioned into a sling across her chest, she would look normal from the neck down. As he looked upon her face, she looked paler than normal, thinner, as well. Her auburn hair glowed from the firelight as it dried, illuminating her as she eased into the chair and used her good arm to draw it around each shoulder as she leaned back. Her near grimace turned to a smile as she felt the heat of the fire, and as she looked to Jessa to thank her, her eyes caught Ned in the shadows by her door. She bit her lip, but did not speak, and Arya and Jessa both turned to see him, standing awkwardly with a bouquet of mixed flowers in his hand.

Jessa bowed. "My lord, I am glad you have returned safe and successful."

"Thank you, Jessa," he replied softly. As she walked past him, she looked up at him meaningfully. He thought he heard her whisper "Good luck," but was not sure.

He was surprised to look up and see Arya staring at him, a wary look in her eye.

"Flowers?" she asked, as if bringing them was the stupidest thing he had ever done. How could his own child he had made make him feel so small sometimes, he wondered.

"For your mother, Arya," he managed as he walked a few steps closer.

"Thank you, Ned. They might go well on this table. Arya - I think you should go and break your fast with your siblings. You are anxious to see Jon, are you not?"

"Are you sure, Mother?"

Ned cocked his head in surprise. "I will tend to your mother, child. Go on now." He reached to tug on a braid, still frizzy from sleep, but curiously, she ducked from his hand and went to kiss her mother, quite tenderly. Even Catelyn looked a little taken aback.

"I will return shortly, Mother. Please do not overtire yourself," she spoke very seriously to Catelyn, and with a final glaring look at Ned, walked out the door.

When he heard the door click at her leaving, he raised an eyebrow at Catelyn, confused at Arya's behavior. She shrugged her shoulder in response, and turned back to the fire.

Unsure of what to do, he desposited the bouquet in the water jug next to Catelyn, leaned in to kiss her cheek, and then folded into the chair across from hers.

"How are you, truly, my love? Are you certain you should be up and about?" he asked softly.

She did not turn to look at him, but spoke while gazing at the fire. "The bath felt marvelous, and Jessa was able to remove most of my bandages. It seems I am healing. I am tired, of course, but I needed to sit up."

"Did you find my letter to you?" he asked softly.

"Yes, thank you," she whispered back, but did not offer more.

They sat a few moments in silence.

"Catelyn..."

She turned slowly toward him. She looked tiny, almost fragile. Sometimes her character and her honor were so present and almost tangible, Ned felt them as a physical part of her being, making her larger than life. For those qualities, he loved and respected and honored her, more than he had ever said or admitted. They were never absent from her, but looking at her now, he was struck but how small she truly was.

The desire to pick her up, carry her to bed and hold her until the end of time was almost too much to resist.

"Ned..." she began. "I do not want to fight. Truly. But I want to talk. I want to talk to you. I have sat with my thoughts alone for the last two days and..." she paused. "I believe what you tell me, and try as I might, had our positions been somehow reversed, I cannot imagine I would abandon the child of my own sibling. I am not sure what else you could have done. I wish a lie had not been necessary -"

"Catelyn, I - " he started but she held up her hand so that he might let her continue.

"I simply want to tell you all of this. I must say what I need to say, and then be done." She looked at the fire quickly, and then back at him. Her expression was blank.

He nodded, moving his hands roughly up and down his legs in his seat, trying to wipe the sweat from his palms, trying to steel himself for what she might say next.

"Again, I wish the lie had not been necessary, but perhaps it was. I know you have suffered, your nephew has suffered, and I have suffered in this. The stories and possible outcomes and phantom ladies and wenches and lovers I have conjured in my head for you..."

"Cat! I could not! I have never!" Ned stuttered in aversion to her words. "Catelyn - you are the only woman I have loved. You must know that!"

"I know that _now_ , Ned. I know. But the last what, fifteen years I have borne this in my heart is not undone with now a new story. A different truth." She looked at him pointedly. He did not know what to say.

Her good hand twisted in her lap at the fur Arya had placed over her. She bit her lip again, and Ned could see tears glistening in her eyes as she spoke, not looking at him. "But I love you. I have loved you for so long, I almost do not remember when I did not." She chuckled drily at that. "I will forgive you, because I want to, and because I love you. Because I believe you when you say there are no more secrets. I cannot pretend to understand everything that you did, but I know you, husband. I trust you did what you thought was right."

He sat very still for minutes - he was not sure how long. Relief washed over him, love washed over him.

"I love you, Catelyn."

She looked back at him then, smiling weakly. He sank to the ground in front of her, wrapping his arms around her legs, laying his head in her lap, silently pleading for her forgiveness.

He felt her hand in his hair, her fingertips ghosting across his cheek.

She leaned down - it hurt a bit, but she refused to acknowledge it - and kissed the side of his face. Then she sat back up, and continued stroking her fingers through his hair, across his cheek, as he stared into the fire.

They stay that way for a while, until she spoke.

"Ned...please...I need to return to bed. My hair is now dry and...I...I am so tired."

He got up, ignoring the blinding needle-pain in his legs from sitting too long, and before she could protest, hooked his arms behind her legs and back and carried her gently to bed.

As she settled against the pillows, he walked back and grabbed the water jug with the flowers he had picked for her. He set the jug down at her bedside table, wanting them to be near her. She smiled a little at that. Then he sat on the bed, next to her side, keen to be near her but not sure of what she needed or would allow at the moment.

He watched her fumble one-handed among the pillows until she found something she was looking for. A folded piece of parchment.

He suddenly knew what it was and was embarrassed. His heart had spoken so loudly when he had written those words two days ago. Why did she still have that letter? He had thought she would read it and then throw it out.

She curled on one side, her slinged arm against her, fully clothed and yet in bed. Stubborn as always - expecting to rise again so soon she would not undress.

She reached for his hand and placed the parchment there.

"Will you read it to me, my love?" she asked quietly.

He looked down at the parchment. From the looks of the paper, it had been unfolded and refolded many, many times in the last two days.

He looked up at her, uncertain.

"Please, Ned. It has brought me comfort. I have never received a love letter from you."

"Is this a love letter?" he asked.

She nodded. "Of a sort."

He realized that Brandon and Catelyn may have exchanged letters during their long courtship, but their own wedding happened so quickly, he and Catelyn had not.

"If things had started differently for us, my love, I would have written you love letters," he whispered, although he was not sure that his younger self would have actually done so.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I am not quite sure the Eddard Stark I knew would have done so, my lord - "

"I might have!" he protested.

"But it is not too late to start, I suppose," she smiled at him. "Now read to me, Ned. I grow tired." 

"Anything my lady desires," he brought her hand to his lips as he repeated their old words.

He cleared his throat, and then began to read:

_"Catelyn,_

_We did not find Jon, but a horse, some food and wine are missing. No one saw him leave, but I have taken a few men and am confident we will find him soon and bring him home. I will tell him the truth before we return. I will send a rider ahead of our party so that you may know when we will arrive._

_I cannot know what you are feeling, but I know I deserve any anger you may feel. I would do anything to take away any pain you may feel._

_The burden of this lie I have told you all these years has been incredible. You must know that I have hated deceiving you. I cannot regret saving Jon's life or granting Lya's dying wish, but I regret every moment you have hurt because of it."_

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. They locked eyes, but he had to look away to swallow hard and be able to keep reading.

_"Watching you sleep now - you are so beautiful, Cat. I hate having to leave you. It never gets easier. I love you more than I could ever say. I hope it is some small comfort to know that there has never been another woman for me. There could never be anyone but you._

_Please forgive me. I will be home soon. I will miss you at each moment. I miss you now, as you sleep_."

He folded the parchment back up, and looked down at her. She was almost smiling, but her eyes were closed. He was unsure of what to do.

"Catelyn....Catelyn...?" he tried softly.

Suddenly her hand tightened around his hand again.

"One more time," she whispered, and he could tell she was on the doorstep of sleep. "Read the last bits to me one more time." 


	22. Chapter 22

Certain she was asleep, Ned leaned back in his chair to think for a moment before heading back downstairs to see to the children, his men and the horses. He needed to speak with the Maester, survey Winterfell in more detail, and all manner of lordly things he had not truly been able to do in over four moons...but for the moment he just wanted to sit and watch Catelyn sleep. The letter he had penned was now folded again and he placed it on the table next to her bed, where he had positioned the flowers, as well. He was still surprised she had kept the letter...the parchment had been soft in his hands from multiple readings.

 _"I have never had a love letter from you before,"_ she had said.

Every once in a while, his wife said something that surprised him, even after all these years. Comments such as this would make him think of her as the young girl she had once been, that he had barely known, but was probably as romantic as their daughter Sansa seemed to be. Had Cat loved stories of knights coming to rescue maidens as much as Sansa does? She might have.

They had met, wed the next day, spent two weeks together and then he was gone to war. Ned could remember some of those days in vivid detail, but the rest was a blur - planning for war with the men during the day, learning a little more about Catelyn at night, trying to make an heir. Grieving silently and alone when he let himself. There was nothing special about that time together, really. By the time Catelyn and Ned had met up after the war in Winterfell, she had become a mother, the Lady of the North, he had brought home a bastard, and he guessed the new responsibilities and her heartbreak over Jon must have replaced her girlish notions of romance. He was certainly not very romantically inclined by nature, although Catelyn could bring out sides of him he felt he didn't even recognize sometimes...

_"Read the last bit one more time..."_

Catelyn had been betrothed to Brandon at the age of twelve, and had spent time with his brother. They must have exchanged dozens of letters over the years, and he knew they had kissed a few times, as Brandon had been quite verbose about his beautiful Tully bride with her beautiful Tully everything...though he had complained she would not allow more than stolen kisses and brief touches in the godswoods. Ned knew his brother was charming and romantic when he wanted to...anything to get the attentions of any woman who caught his eye. In fact, Catelyn was probably not the only woman he had written letters to, but Ned could imagine Brandon writing a few, and Catelyn - what had she penned back to him?

What would he and Catelyn have said to each other, had they ever exchanged letters that were not news of war, brief messages of purpose sent by raven?

_"It it not too late to start, I suppose..."_

Ned mulled over her words. She sighed and shifted in her sleep, wincing but not waking as her bandaged arm moved along her body. _She has been through so much. She is so strong,_ he thought.

Suddenly he got up and walked over to the small desk in her room where she wrote letters.  

 

 

*           *            *             *           * 

Arya made her way down to the Great Hall, where she ran over to Jon, punched him in the arm, and then hugged him. "Don't run away again, stupid." He smiled and hugged her back. "I won't. Someone has to look out for you and try to teach you some manners." That earned him another punch, but then she walked over to sit at the table and eat.

"There you are! Father was looking for you," Sansa told her.

Arya made a face. "Well, he found me taking care of Mother. They sent me here." She stopped talking only to shove a huge biscuit in her mouth.

"Was Mother doing well?" 

Arya nodded in response, grinning a little. "She was bossing me and Jessa around, so that's a good sign." 

Sansa's eyes grew wide. "That's a very good sign. Did she bathe and sit by the fire like she wanted?" Arya nodded. "Oh, that's lovely. She hates being out of water for so long. And her hair was looking dreadful."

Arya rolled her eyes. "She has _much_ more important things to think about than the state of her hair."

"What do you mean?" Arya stared at her. "Well, I _know_ there's all manners of important things for Mother to think about besides her hair, I only meant...you sounded as if you had something specific in mind."

Arya eyed Sansa suspiciously. "Why do you even care?" she muttered.

"Arya!" Sansa sighed with exasperation. "Look - we don't always have to hate each other."

"Are you sure?" Arya asked, sarcastically.

Sansa sighed again. "I just think...we've been through quite a bit in the last week...Father finally coming home, Mother's fall from the horse and thinking she might not wake up, and then our brother running away! I just...I don't know. I know we are not best friends, but I would not mind being better sisters."

Sansa looked at her hopefully, and almost...shyly. Arya's first instinct was to roll her eyes or make a smart remark that would probably send Sansa crying to their parents. But maybe she was right - they could be better sisters. And what was bothering Arya right now would be hard to talk about with others...

"Well..." she began, bits of biscuit spewing from her mouth. She looked over her shoulders to make sure no one else could hear. "It's just that I have been thinking a lot about what you were saying...about what it really means that Jon is a bastard."

Sansa nodded in understanding.

"I don't really know what it means when a man and a woman..." she dropped off and looked around again. "I can't talk about this here. If I showed you my spot in the stables, would you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Arya, pretty much everyone knows where you go to hide."

"They do?!" she squealed in alarm. "Well...they might know _where_ I go, in general, but they don't know what I've got up there. Come on."

Arya took off running, pulling up her skirts haphazardly, not even checking to see if Sansa was behind her. Sansa looked around the Great Hall. No one even noticed Arya's getaway, as they were probably used to it. But she would leave the hall like a lady.

She stood up from her seat, smiling and walking gracefully toward the exit. It was only once she was in the courtyard that she picked up the pace and finally met Arya at the bottom of a ladder she had pulled from the walls of the stable, and hitched up to the upper loft.

Arya turned to her solemnly. "You must promise not to tell. Or laugh. Or say or do anything stupid."

"Really, Arya, I -"

"Promise, or I will kick the ladder once you've started climbing."

"Gods! Alright, I promise!"

Arya twisted and tucked her skirts into themselves, and quickly climbed up the ladder as if she did it several times a day. She probably did, Sansa thought wryly.

Sansa's climb was not as steady, but she was also not kicked off the ladder. She reached the upper loft, a small space with a few stacks of hay, and to her astonishment, what looked like a small arsenal of weapons.

"Arya! Where did you get all these?!"

Arya grinned. "Oh, just lying around, I suppose."

There were sticks, stones, a small bow and arrow set, at least three helmets and bits of soldier gear, and some wooden swords that Sansa recognized from when the boys practiced in the courtyard.

"Have you stolen these, Arya? The boys get into trouble when equipment goes missing!"

Arya looked concerned for a breif moment, but then plopped down on the floor and began picking at her fingernails.

"Are you going to listen or not?" she asked, drily, while making a mental note to discreetly return a few items.

Sansa made a frustrated sound, but then swept the bits of hay to the side and folded herself onto the floor in front of her sister.

Arya did not look up from her fingers as she picked at the bits of skin, chewing on her bottom lip as she did so.

Sansa cleared her throat. "You were saying...something about Jon..."

"I'm angry with Father. And I don't want to get married. Ever," Arya muttered quietly.

"What?" Sansa asked.

Arya stopped worrying at her fingernails, as they were beginning to bleed. She could already hear Septa Mordane chastising her unladylike hands. She stared out the window as she hugged her knees to her chest.

"I thought Father was the greatest man in all of Westeros."

"He is," Sansa said with confidence.

"But he's not. Don't you see - this whole time, I have been so angry with Mother because she has hated Jon. I did not understand why she always made it clear that Jon was a bastard and not her own child. _I_ love him - he is my brother. But now I understand what it means. Father was supposed to be so good and honorable, but just as soon as they marry, he goes off and lays with another woman, and then brings the baby home." She picked up a rock and threw it against the wall. "Mother had to leave her whole family to come here, and was bringing Robb up all by herself, and then Father comes home with a bastard!"

"Would you rather something terrible had happened to Jon - for surely his mother is dead, or Father would not have done that? Or for Jon to have never been borne?" Sansa asked quietly, in a voice that sounded as if she was asking herself the same thing.

"No!" Arya wiped angrily at a tear. "I love Jon! But he has been hurt in this, too! And now I know that it all points back to Father! And I don't understand, because I know he loves Mother! But he's ruined so much! It's his fault!"

The sisters sat quietly for a moment. Sansa shed a few tears gracefully, but Arya's made her nose run and the way she wiped so angrily at her face made it red.

"I am angry at Father, because this whole time, I have been mad at Mother on behalf of Jon, but it is really Father's fault! And..." she paused for a moment. "and if someone as good as Father could do something so painful to Mother, who is the most beautiful and kind and best lady in the world, then why wouldn't a man do that to someone like me? Or be cruel to you?"

Sansa looked back at Arya with a horrified expression. She had never considered this.

"I don't want to be a lady, but I know they will make me get married eventually," Arya said miserably. "And if a man as honorable as Father could hurt a lady like Mother...I..."

"Don't, Arya." Sansa interrupted her sister. "Lets not talk about it anymore. There must be things we do not know - things that would help explain this." 

Arya sniffled into her sleeve.

"I am not as good as you or Mother. I do not know how she has forgiven him. I can not do the same so easily."

"But, Arya! You forgive those you love. You do!" Sansa looked at her in earnest. Arya did not look convinced. Sansa continued.

"How many times have you bested Bran in something, but he never holds a grudge, no matter how embarassed he might be? Or how often have you interrupted Robb and Jon at something, but they are kind to you and let you play along, even when you apparently steal all their armour?" Arya smiled through a bit sniffle.

"Or even with each other? How many times have you told on me, or made me cry, or I have ratted you out to Septa Mordane...and yet here we sit, in your dirty weapons room, and I am crying on a hay-ridden floor with a sister I spend most of the day hating?" Sansa tilted her head and smiled at Arya. 

"That's not the same, Sansa," Arya countered, even as she smiled.

"I know, but...it is a way I can understand forgiveness. And love. I know it is different when you are grown ups, but...Mother has forgiven Father. And you have to, as well. Or you will be unhappy and then make us all unhappy and everything is just now getting better, you see."

Arya rolled her eyes at that.

"Pardon me for wanting my family to be happy!" Sansa said.

"But what about what I said about getting married, and if our husbands -"

"Father would never let bad men marry us."

"Do you think Grandfather thought he was marrying Mother to a bad man?" Arya retorted.

"No..." Sansa said, thoughtfully. "But also he thought Mother would be marrying Brandon Stark."

Arya stared back at her. "That's it. I've decided. It is too complicated to grow up and get married, and so I will not."

Sansa laughed. "Aryaaaaa....."

"No. Leave me here. You may visit. I will be Aunt Arya, age 10, but nothing more," Arya said, resolutely.

"Shut up, you're being stupid."

Sansa calling her 'stupid' made her smile again. Back to normal. " _You're_ stupid. I'm going to put on the helmet and then go down to scare Rickon and Bran. Come on."

 

*          *           *          *         * 

Ned found Jon in his room. "May I come in for a moment?"

"Sure, Fath-uh...yes." Jon answered.

"You may still call me Father, Jon."

"I am not sure I want to."

Ned sighed as he looked at the boy as he was tugging on his boots and then moving to sit on the bed. The people of Winterfell might think he looked like Ned, but Ned saw so much of Lyanna in him. Some of the older folk at Winterfell might also be able to see it...the way his eyes seemed to look so deeply at you, the furrowed brow, the speed on his horse...all rang of Lyanna to Ned.

"Have you told Robb yet, Jon? Have the boys been after you for running off?"

"Not yet...it was strange, in the Great Hall this morning...everyone was just said they had been worried about me and and glad to see me back. No one really even asked why I had left in the first place."

"That might be a good thing, son."

"Perhaps...but...I will feel better when I tell Robb."

Ned nodded in response.

"How is Lady Stark?" Jon asked suddenly.

Ned looked up in surprise. "She does well...recovering well."

Jon's expression was strange for a moment. Ned waited.

"Could she have loved me? If she had known the truth - would she have loved me?" he asked in a small voice.

The words sliced through Ned's heart. He had asked himself that same question many times over the years.

"Jon...we cannot undo anything. We cannot change the past."

"I know...I just...wonder if things would have been different...if it will be different."

"I know it has been difficult between you...perhaps now..."

Jon shook his head. "No. Nevermind. I _wanted_ a mother's love. She is a good mother," he added with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I am a man now, and...I've been meaning to join the Night's Watch, soon, hopefully..."

"Jon," Ned felt panic at that idea. "Are you sure? The Night's Watch, I do not -"

"I have made up my mind. I can join Uncle BenJen there. Feel a true part of something. Have some honor."

When Ned looked into his eyes, he saw that Jon's mind was made up. He could not truly blame him for choosing a life he could carve out for himself, away from his identity here as a bastard. But he would miss him, as he missed BenJen. And it would be dangerous. He had promised Lyanna...

"Well...I'll leave you to your lessons then, Jon."

"Yes, Father." Jon nodded one more time, and then turned to collect his things from his room as Ned walked out the door.

*         *           *           *            * 

When she woke, she could feel something between her fingers. At first she thought Ned had slipped the letter back into her hand as she lay sleeping, but even before she opened it, her fingers recognized the paper as newer than his letter she had read and reread and folded and refolded so many times. _Another letter?_ she thought.

She opened it to read. It was short.

_Catelyn,_

_Mayhaps you are right that the Ned you first met and wed would not have written you love letters every night...but you also said it is not too late to start._

_You sleep now. I watch your chest rise and fall, and the regularity of your breathing brings me so much joy. You cannot know how we worried while you were in your sleep for those four days._

_I want to_ \- _I wish that - You are -_  the words were scratched out several times, until he started again.

_Know that I love you._

_Ned._

_  
_As Jessa entered the room, Catelyn refolded the parchment quickly, but did not move quickly enough to wipe the tears from her face.

"My lady! Are you in pain? What is it?" Jessa asked, setting down the tea tray on a table and coming to her bedside.

Catelyn shook her head. "I am fine. It is nothing." She followed Jessa's eyes looking at the flowers by her bedside, and noticing the parchments in her hand and on the table.

"Are those from the children?"

"No....my lord brought me the flowers," she answered, a little shyly.

"Did he now? Are those letters from him, as well? Has your lord husband written you some poems, then?" she asked with a smile.

"Don't pry, Jessa!"

"Of course, my lady. Just curious. It is a good thing to see a lord look after his lady, is all. What I would do for a little romance from my own husband!" Jessa clucked her tongue as she went about the room, straightening this and that, checking the fire. Catelyn tried very hard to not be embarassed when Jessa gently helped her on and off the chamber pot, but she managed to convince Jessa to lead her back to the chair by the fire.

"May I get you anything, Lady Catelyn?"

"Actually, would you sit with me for a bit, Jessa? I would not mind some company." In truth, Catelyn knew that Jessa would be perfect company, because she could talk about nothing at all, make Catelyn laugh and forget to think about her own problems for a while. Jessa was sweet, and the closest thing Catelyn had ever had to a friend here in Winterfell.

"Of course! Let me get my sewing."

Jessa settled into the chair across Catelyn and her fingers began to fly across the material, stitching this and that. It was a garment for a baby - Jessa was to be a grandmother soon. She had come from Riverrun with Catelyn, a sweet, bubbly girl, and had quickly married one of the blacksmiths at Winterfell. Their oldest child, Canda, had eloped at 14 with a stableboy and was now expecting. "They are young, to be sure, but at least they were married before the baby. And Canda has always wanted to be a mother. Her father is horrified, of course, to think that our little girl is capable of getting with child," Jessa laughed. "But he likes her husband well enough. Threatened to kill him, but I reminded him that he didn't have much to offer himself when I first met and married him. All that passion of young people! Gods, how different things might be if we all waited to get married when we had cooler heads and our blood didn't run so hot. But then - the fun we might miss!" Jessa laughed. "But, I suppose, some of the fun gets better with age and experience." Jessa cast a wicked glance at Catelyn, who pursed her lips and tried to look scandalized. Sometimes Jessa's teasing bordered on inappropriate, but Catelyn secretly enjoyed it. 

"I am not sure what you are referring to, Jessa," she said with a fake haughtiness."

"Oh, to be sure, my lady. Very proper, you and your lord husband most certainly are, sneaking off in the middle of banquets..."

"Jessa!" This time, Catelyn truly was shocked. But Jessa just laughed. 

"Yes, my lady. Well. My Canda. She's young, as I said. Aye, none of us know what we're doing at that age. I'm just glad she'll live right next door and I can help her with the wee one. She'll do well."

Catelyn thought about that - she would most likely not be there to help Sansa and Arya raise their children - they would marry and move far away. Her mother hadn't been there to help her, either.

"Does she think it will be a boy or a girl?" Catelyn asked to shake her thoughts away.

"From the way she carries, we think a boy, which is what all men want first, of course. My husband wants it named for him. As for me, I just want a healthy grandchild and a safe delivery for the mother, the wee thing."

"That's all women want, isn't it?" Catelyn said, softly.

Jessa looked up. "Oh, I'm so sorry, my lady...I did not mean to..."

Catelyn shook her head. Jessa had been through the miscarriage with Catelyn, between Arya and Bran. Jessa had seen her devastation and depression. To have delivered five healthy babes was a blessed thing, it was almost too much to hope to have had six. When she remembered the babe she had lost, Catelyn felt a kind of sad hollowness, but knew she was luckier than most women. And every year, Ned would walk with her to the tiny gravestone in the godswood - she had refused anything in the crypts, and Ned had compromised with a place in the godswood that had more light than the rest, on a quiet path, where Catelyn felt almost completely comfortable. She would place flowers, and she would cry, and he would hold her. Just as he had for the weeks after the loss of the babe. Those quiet nights, laying in bed together, when he would make her feel safe.

Jessa was watching her quietly. "It is so good to see you sitting up, my lady. Even if it worries me a little. I hope the Maester will not disapprove. He should be by shortly."

"Yes. I hope to be better soon."

"The flowers make the room more cheerful." 

Catelyn smiled.

"Do you think it will frighten you to ride horses again?"

Catelyn hadn't thought of that. "I do not think so...I have been thrown before, when I was young, though not so violently, of course. I do not really remember much of it happening, so...I suppose I will find out the next time I try to ride one."

"You are the bravest woman I know, my lady. I am sure you will be fine," Jessa nodded confidently.

"You find me brave?" Catelyn asked, startled.

"Of course you are brave! Look at all that you have done, my lady! I have seen it all, here with you. I even remember working at Riverrun, you were just a few years younger than me, but you always stood out - that beautiful hair and smile, and your father just loved you. Trusted you with the whole castle. And then. First your mother, then your betrothed. Then you are married off to a silent stranger from this cold land - and don't you remember how long the journey was to get here? I was so frightened, the lands were so different, but you just stared ahead, holding that little Robb to your chest. And when Lord Stark came back from the war, first with Jon, then the second time with Theon. I'd have lost my wits long before all that. But you've never faltered. And now you have five beautiful children, and a husband who loves you."

Catelyn sat still for a moment. "It has been a blessed life, I suppose, though it has not been easy..."

"Nothing worth having ever is, my lady. And your fine children - all so beautiful, so intelligent, are very much worth having. And your husband...I've known him long enough now to know, I think... you hold his whole world together, and he knows it."

Catelyn blushed a little. "Well..." she said, softly. "If I hold his whole world....he is certainly holding mine."

 

*       *       *        *        * 

 


	23. Chapter 23

After seeing to Jon, Ned visited the stables, his soldiers, and various stewards around the castle. Nothing had changed, really, since he had visited this all with Robb just a few days prior, when he had originally returned from the campaign in the northern lands, but he needed to see things again for himself. It helped him to focus on his duties for a while, and he knew that the people of Winterfell needed to see their Lord about the castle.

Everyone he spoke to asked after Lady Stark and offered their prayers. Despite disliking having to speak about his wife to others in even the smallest amount of detail, he could not help but feel proud of her, knowing how concerned their people were for her well-being. And, to his relief, he got no questions about Jon's recent escapade. He hoped that would slip away from the collective memory of Winterfell, for Jon's sake as well as his own. It would not do to have too many questions regarding the reason for Jon's disappearance.

The midday meal passed without much ceremony in the Great Hall. It was usually a small affair to begin with. Something seemed definitely amiss about Arya, who he caught several times staring at him with a wary look in her eye. Sansa would grab at her arm and they would whisper together - something else Ned was not used to seeing. He reminded himself to speak to Catelyn about it later. Perhaps she would know more. She usually did.

After the meal, the children went back to their various lessons. Septa Mordane mentioned Sansa and Arya had been late to theirs that morning, but Ned assured her that the children were just readjusting after all the upheaval in the castle, and he was certain it would not happen again.

The Maester told him that he would be going to check on Catelyn, and Ned decided to let them meet alone. He felt confident Catelyn was getting better, and did not want to bother her with his hovering presence while the good Maester checked this bandage and that.

He had already spoken with the Maester as he made his rounds that morning, in order to reveal quietly and quickly Jon's true parentage. When he looked up at the Maester, he was regarding him with kind eyes......

"I am honored you find me worthy to share this information with, Lord Stark. But I must admit, I am not surprised."

Ned was stunned. "I beg your pardon?"

"I have known you since you were a young boy, Lord Stark. Despite your absence for long years at the Eyrie, your character and sense of honor had been well-defined long before then - long before the wars you fought on behalf of your sister, your father, your brother and then your friend. When you came home from the war with news of your sister's death, but carrying an infant without a mother's name...perhaps it was dishonest of me to keep my, shall we say, suspicions from you, but I never really believed you would have lain with another woman right after your marriage, then taken a bastard from the mother to bring it here. Especially when the babe looked so much like your sister when she was born."

"But, you never said anything..." Ned spoke slowly, reeling from the Maester's admission. He reached behind him for a seat to sit in, his legs suddenly unsteady.

"I assumed, correctly, I know now, that you had good reasons for keeping the mother's identity hidden. And there was so much happening to you, still a young man. I observed the strain on your relationship that the presence of your supposed bastard introduced between you and your new wife, who was also a new mother. And you had just been thrust into a lordship you had never intended for yourself and were clearly reluctant to inhabit. I did not want to cause undue stress, my lord."

A thought suddenly struck Ned.

"Luwin...do you think anyone else about Winterfell might have thought the same?"

The Maester nodded. "It is possible. There are many loyal subjects within the walls of Winterfell that have known even your father as a child. But you have called Jon Snow your bastard for so long, and memories and suspicions can grow hazy."

Ned nodded, thinking to himself.

"I suppose both Jon and Lady Catelyn are still processing this revelation?"

Ned grunted, and dropped his head against his chest, staring at his hands that clasped each other. His wedding ring glinted in the noon sun streaking through the Maester's windows. Luwin regarded him carefully.

"This will take time, my lord. It can be difficult to shake a shadow of the past. But you are a Stark of Winterfell. Winter makes a man patient. I know you will see it through."

"Thank you, Luwin. I...I will leave you to your duties. Please attend Lady Catelyn when you can."

"Is she aware you have shared this information with me?"

"Not yet...we still have....much to discuss." Ned stood to leave, but turned back at the door when the Maester spoke again.

"I understand. Thank you for trusting me with this, Ned," the Maester said softly. He rarely used his lord's first name anymore. "And for what it is worth, I want you to know...I think you did what you thought was right. Had there been another way to keep the babe safe, I know you would have found it."

.....

As Ned watched the Maester walk up the steps towards his wife's bedchambers, and his children file out of the Great Hall to attend to their afternoon lessons, with Septa Mordane hot on the heels of Arya and Sansa to make sure they did not evade any moment of what she had planned, Ned decided to head to the godswood. He had much to think about, much to pray about.

 

The peace fell on him, wrapped around his shoulders, the moment he entered. It was quiet here - so silent that it roared in his ears, making it easier to drown out his thoughts.

He didn't need to think about where his feet were taking him.

The vote of confidence from the Maester, one of his most trusted advisors, meant more to Ned than he could say. It make Ned feel better and more hopeful than he had been in the last few days.

He sat under the great tree and closed his eyes.

 

Before he knew it, the sun had started to fall in the sky. Ned looked up around him, realizing how dark it had become, and felt guilty about losing track of time. He hurried toward the Keep and quickly up to his wife's chambers.

Again, outside her door, he felt the odd inclination to knock. _When would that go away_ , he wondered.

He pressed inside and found her curled up in bed on her good arm's side, a fire slowly dying at the late hour. He moved to place more logs on it, thinking to call to someone to have them bring more wood, when he heard her voice calling him.

"Ned, my love," she murmured.

He was at her side in an instant, dipping into the chair placed at the head of the bed.

"Yes, Cat? How are you?" he brushed an invisible hair back from her face, just to rest his palm against her cheek. She smiled. _She knows what I just did,_ he thought.

"I do feel much better. Stronger. And I wish to get up and go to the meal with the children..."

"Cat - " he tried to interrupt.

"-but I know I should not. But mayhaps you will stay with me a while? Jessa said she would bring me some broth later."

"Of course. Whatever my lady desires."

She opened her eyes to look into his. "Then...might you be able to lay beside me?"

His boots were off and he had settled beside her before she even knew it. She felt his arm gently wind itself under her bandaged one, and his knees bump up against the back of hers. He swept her hair back so he might lay his face closer to hers, and when she felt his breath hum against her ear, she shivered back towards his warm chest.

"Cat...Cat..." he crooned into her hair as he settled. She smelled so good and felt so good in his arms. He had missed this - her warm and responsive in his embrace.

They lay for a few moments, just to feel close to one another.

"You feel lovely next to me, husband."

She could feel him press a smile into her hair. She always felt safe in his arms. What happened in their bedchambers...the heat that sparked a passion between them that Catelyn had never expected, never even knew existed before they had found it together, was like a sort of magic. But the moments when her husband would just hold her; when she could feel his heart against her back, his solid weight anchoring her to Winterfell and their lives together...that was when Catelyn felt loved more than anything. That she felt like she truly belonged in Winterfell, because she and Ned fit just so.

"Ned?"

"mmhmm?" he answered, sleepy with the comfort of his wife in his arms again.

"I was wondering...if you might...do something for me."

"Anything, my love."

"I would like to hear some of the stories. The ones told me while I was sleeping."

Ned opened his eyes and shifted. It had been hard enough to tell her when he knew she had been unconscious to his fumbling words, his quiet admissions of admiration for her.

"I am...not very good at stories, Cat," he said softly.

"Not even a very short one?" she tilted her head to look back at him out of the corner of her eye.

He did not answer right away, trying to come up with an excuse without letting her down.

"Are you not tired, Cat? You would fall asleep before I even began..." he said, hoping she would let him off the hook.

"I am tired, but not so tired as that."

He frowned. "Wouldn't you rather hear something from the children? They had some very sweet memories they shared. We should wait for them."

She leaned further back to try and make eye contact with him. "Whatever are you so afraid of, Ned? I just want to hear something lovely. Sansa said you told lovely stories."

Ned paused. That gave him a sort of idea.

"May I tell you a story as I would tell Sansa?"

She frowned. She did not want to say this directly, but she had wanted to hear something from her husband about how he felt about her, a memory of sorts.

"I promise you will like it," he added.

"All right," she replied, tentatively.

Ned took a deep breath. _Make something lovely for Cat,_ he thought.

He began slowly, finding his footing, trying to remember how Old Nan used to spin yarns for them as children.

"There was once a beautiful maiden, born in the riverlands. She was intelligent and lovely." He peeked at Cat's face - she was listening with a confused look. "She was very clever, and brave. And she had hair like no one had ever seen before, kissed by fire, and drove most men mad. They grew madder still when they watched her dance, or heard her laugh, or had the fortune to kiss her soft hands." Then Catelyn smiled, realizing what he was telling a story of her as he would have told to Sansa to get her to sleep when she was a little girl, and snuggled closer against him.

"She sounds like a dream," she added.

"She is, she is," he agreed.

"But at what point am I to be captured by a dragon?"

He made a clucking sound in her ear. "Patience! You've yet to meet your knight in shining armor."

"Get on, then. I hear he's handsome."

"If only she were that lucky, my lady. However. In the North, there was a young man, who was only the second son, but a fair knight. He was not much to talk about, and even less to look at. It was rumoured he wore a mask instead of a real face, for the people of the North only ever saw him wear one expression."

At that, Catelyn could not help but to laugh, though she winced at the pain in her bruised ribs. She had never heard Ned reference his "lord's face" in jest before.

Ned chuckled with her, but then continued in a more serious voice. "But there was trouble afoot in the kingdom. And there were dragons, my lady. Mad dragons, and lions that roared, and terrible fires."

He paused for a moment, and though it gave her a small pain, Catelyn squeezed her bandaged arm over his where it wrapped around her waist.

"There were twists of fate no one could have predicted. And the knight was not able to save anyone he loved...except a tiny babe, a secret babe, who he swore to keep safe." Catelyn heard Ned swallow hard, but he pressed on. "And at the end of the war, this sad, cold knight brought this lady to the North to be his wife, not knowing what the future would hold for them."

"Was he ever to be happy?" Catelyn whispered, almost childlike. Ned smiled, thinking of how much she sounded like Sansa.

"Well, my lady, that was what the fair maiden was for. It was very difficult at the beginning, for both of them. The knight did not want to be a lord. But the lady was so lovely, and so strong, and patient. She helped him be the lord he had to be, and he knew he could do it, because she was his lady. She showed the knight how to love again, and taught him how to laugh, for she was determined that they would have a happy life, even in the face of all that had come before. They created five beautiful children that became everything to them. The knight particularly enjoyed the times involved in creating the children." He punctuated his small joke with a kiss to her hair. He was almost enjoying himself now, despite of his earlier reservations.

"As did the lady," Catelyn offered with a smile and a raised eyebrow over her shoulder.

His smile grew bigger. "Aye, the lord thought she might, if the frequency of invitations to her bedchambers, and the noises she made within were any indication -"

"Ned!"

"I'm sorry, you're right, that is another story." He could not help but feel a warmness radiating from within his chest at their playful exchange over his silly words. This was how they were, this was the woman he was so desperately in love with, and despite everything, loved him, too. Their world would set to right again.

"Where was I...? Oh, yes. And so, they had their children, and they watched them grow. The children grew into little lords and ladies, and were married to only the very best in the kingdom. But, in another twist of fate, all castles disappeared except the one in the North that our very lord and lady inhabited! And so, much to the delight of the lady, her children remained near to her, living in Winterfell, even after they married."

Catelyn had to laugh again at Ned's addition to the tale. He knew she was already secretly dreading having to part with her children when they were to be married.

"This is quite unlike any song or story I ever heard when I was younger, Ned."

"Oh, my love, it gets even better. For the Lord and Lady grew older, but loved each other even more everyday. When their eldest son was finally tired of them, he sent them away to a small holdfast, with barely any company or responsibilities, where they lived out the rest of their days making love and spoiling their grandchildren, of which they had twenty-four."

Catelyn rolled her eyes. "Really, Ned. I just wanted a short story - "

"I am not finished, my lady."

"Am I to hear about how we pass on to the other world, then?"

"Laying side by side, in bed together, still happy at the end of our days? No. I will save that for another day."

Catelyn stilled. She knew Ned had been uncomfortable when she had made this request of him, but she had been truly curious to hear what he might have told her while she had been sleeping. His "story" had evolved into something that had entertained her more than she had expected; it had revived her spirits, made her laugh, made her love her husband all the more. It was not often that he was so generous with his words. To know he was doing so, with effort, for her benefit, made her want to smile and cry at the same time. And then he would say a small thing, a quick thing, but a thought she has had, too, that they would only come to the end of their lives together, surrounded by their families, and happy.

He never meant to, she thought, but he often took her breath away.

"Forgive me, my love. Please proceed."

He paused for a moment, seeming to feel a weight in her words. He stroked her hair under his hand before continuing. "And so the second son knight, made unwilling lord, made husband and father and grandfather, looked upon his lady wife everyday, and thanked the gods. He endeavored to be worthy of such a woman," he stopped to drop a kiss to her cheek. "He prayed for wisdom to guide their family," another kiss, "he prayed for peace - no more wars that would ever call him away from her side again," another kiss. "And he prayed she might always love him as much as he loved her."

He eased himself up on his elbow to look down at her. She turned to meet his eyes. Hers were shining.

"She does, Ned," she said, and let him kiss her softly. "Perhaps never more than now." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want them to be happy :)


	24. Chapter 24

The weeks passed. Catelyn spent her time praying to heal quickly, as she hated feeling idle; conducting the household duties of Winterfell from her bedroom as best she could; slowly rebuilding intimacy and trust with her husband; and preparing to have some painful but needed conversations with her older children.

She and Ned had decided that Bran and Rickon were too young to yet know, but that Jon would tell Robb, and they should tell Sansa and Arya in the near future. Of course, it all happened more quickly than they could have planned.

 

Robb came one evening to her room with a tray of food for supper, asking quietly if he might sit and eat with her by her fire. She guessed the reason for his visit, and after a few minutes of somewhat strained silence, he told her that Jon had spoken with him about who his mother and father truly were.

"I see. How does that make you feel, Robb?" she asked, tenderly, reaching a hand for his.

Robb hesitated. "I will always think of Jon as a brother. I think he was worried that would change somehow, but it won't."

"You understand we must keep this a secret? And why your father kept this a secret?"

"Yes." He grimaced. "I suppose it is a good thing that Jon wants to join the Night's Watch. He says that will be his true family."

"He will always love you, Robb. No matter what vows he might take at the Wall."

"I know. But I did not come here to talk about Jon. I know Father did what he thought best. He spoke to me about it. I am sorry for Jon, because he has been called names and felt...things..." he paused to draw a deep breath. "But I wanted to apologize to you, Mother."

Catelyn was surprised. "Whatever for, sweetling?"

"Mother, I have...said some things to you, recently, more when I was younger, about Jon. I have been angry, sometimes in secret, that you were not loving toward him. I saw how it hurt him, and I resented you for it. But now, I see things differently. I realized that as much as Jon has been hurt, you were as well. In a different way, but you were as well. And I am sure my words did not help."

"Oh, Robb..." Catelyn did not know what to say. She was touched that Robb had sought her out to apologize. Over the years, he had said things that had hurt her, but while she had had to battle internal resentment for the way Robb fiercely defended Jon in all things, she had never been truly angry with Robb for it. Perhaps at Ned for creating the situation that would lead her son to say some of the things that he did, but never truly angry with Robb. "I love you for your loyalty and devotion to your friends and family. That is what makes you you. I could never be angry with you for it." Robb smiled in embarrassment. She looked at her firstborn, filled with pride and love. He will be such a good husband and father one day, she thought. "It was good of you to come and say those things to me."

He had looked back at her smile, his serious face reminding her so much in Ned, despite how little he physically resembled him, and nodded just as his father would have. They ate the rest of their meal quietly talking about trivial matters around the castle, and when he rose to leave, he had kissed her forehead tenderly. "I hope you feel completely well soon, Mother."

 

A few weeks later, Catelyn had called Sansa to her room to speak to her on her own before addressing Arya. Ned had told her that the girls seemed to be getting along better than ever, often disappearing together after a meal to a location they refused to reveal to their father. "The upper loft of the barn," Bran had whispered conspiratorially after breakfast, watching his father's confused expression as his normally quarrelsome daughters willingly ran off together. But Catelyn had wanted to tell them separately, as they were both so different. She was concerned for her mother's health in the face of such news, and thought it was terrible that her father had lied to everyone for so long, but generally, Sansa's reaction had reflected her romantic tendencies - "of course Father has loved no one but you! Oh, his poor sister! And poor Jon - no living parents." She assured her mother that she would tell no one of the secret, and after asking again if Catelyn was all right, she went away, thinking well of everyone.

 

Arya had been acting somewhat strangely since Jon's disappearance; clinging a little closer to her mother and somewhat wary of her father. Catelyn hoped this news would not upset her child further. By chance, Ned happened to come into the room as Catelyn sat up in bed, Arya at her side, listening to her explain. Catelyn motioned for Ned to draw a chair over. Arya regarded him with questioning eyes.

"So...Father lied. You always say we should not lie. But he has been telling us all a lie."

Catelyn shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yes, sweet one. But do you understand that he felt that was his best choice, in order to protect Jon? He had to protect his sister's babe. He had promised her he would protect Jon."

"But...isn't Robert your friend, Father?"

"Yes, Arya. But wars can make men do terrible things. I did not trust him. And we must still keep this a secret, for Jon's sake. And perhaps our own."

"But didn't it hurt your feelings, Mother? Sansa told me how men make a bastard," Arya spit out. Ned locked eyes with Catelyn over her head. "And you have had to think that of Father, all this time. How could you do that to Mother?" she turned toward Ned. He looked panic-stricken at Catelyn. He had never heard the accusations from his children before. But Catelyn, having been the one to explain to the children in turn, was better prepared.

"Arya, sweetling," Catelyn said, gently, taking her hand and pulling on it until Arya turned back to face her. "We cannot change what has happened in the past. And so we should not worry about it, if we can help it. It is better to think about things we know, and your father loves me very much, of this I am certain."

"Very much," Ned added softly. Catelyn raised her eyes from Arya's to meet his.

"And he has apologized to me, and I forgive him, because I love him, too."

Arya chewed on her bottom lip, swinging her feet slowly under the bed.

Ned raised an eyebrow at Catelyn. She shrugged her shoulder in response. "Arya..."

"So..." she began slowly. "Really, all of this is because of your sister, Lyanna."

Ned startled in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"You lying to Mother, Mother mad about Jon, Jon running away. Everyone's feelings have been hurt. It was because of something your sister did."

"Yes..." the word came out slowly. Ned looked at Cat uncertainly. "Lyanna did some foolish things, and some terrible things were happening around her as well."

"And you always say that I remind you of her. Of your sister."

"Ha! You do, in many ways," Ned smiled at her, though she was still looking at her lap, but he glanced up to see Catelyn's eyes widen as she began to understand where Arya's logic was taking her.

"Then do you think..." Arya drew a sharp breath. "Do you think I will grow up to do something foolish, too? That I will ruin everything?" She turned her face up to Ned, and he could see the tears swimming on the edge of her lower eyelashes. 

"Oh, gods, no! Arya - that is not what I meant at all!" Ned leaned back in horror, looking to Catelyn.

"Arya, sweetling, we do not think that of you," she reached out to rub her daughter's back, who was hiccupping as she fought her tears.

"I do not want to do something foolish! I do not want to hurt everyone's feelings!"

"No, Arya..." Ned reached out for her small body and pulled her into his lap. "I know you would never do something that would hurt everyone's feelings. That is not what Lyanna intended, either."

"Then how do you know I won't? You always say I'm just like her!" Arya demanded.

Ned looked helplessly at Catelyn. You must fix this, you know how, her eyes seemed to say.

He wrapped his arms around his daughter, rocking her as he thought of what to say.

"You remind me of the best parts of my sister. You are intelligent, and brave, and you make me laugh. Remember when I told you this, not so long ago?"

Arya nodded as she sniffled into his chest.

"Sometimes you run your mouth, and sometimes you run off and hide, much in the way Lyanna did."

Catelyn raised an eyebrow at her husband, but he nodded back at her.

"But you are different than Lyanna in very important ways. She was...spoiled. We spoiled her." Ned shook his head at the memory. "She did not think of consequences very often, if at all. And when I look at you, I do not see those things. You must remember, too...my mother died when we were all very young. And after...we...we did not know what to do." 

The air seemed to suck out of the room to Catelyn. In seventeen years of marriage, he had rarely mentioned his childhood, mentioned Lyanna even less, but Catelyn could count on one hand the times her husband had spoken of his mother. Ned looked directly at her over Arya's head as he spoke softly.

"And so Lyanna was not as fortunate as you are, for you have the best mother in the world. She loves you, and although she would give you the world if she could, you are not spoiled. She only wants what is best for you, and so she disciplines you so that you will grow up to know wrong from right. She is very proud of you, and so am I, and we know we can trust you to make good decisions as you grow older, so we can continue to be proud of you."

Catelyn smiled down at the grey eyes that suddenly peeked up shyly at her from Ned's chest.

"There is no better woman in the world than your mother. No one else I would ever want to be my wife, the mother of my children, the lady of my castle. We are all very lucky."

"Almost spoiled?" Arya leaned back and smiled shyly at her little joke.

Ned chuckled. "Indeed. The gods have spoiled us in your mother." Catelyn laughed a little even as she sniffled at the tears caused by Ned's words. He had been comforting Arya, but comforting her as well. He had been so good to her, so intentional with his words in everything he said since coming home from finding Jon. Every day she felt closer than ever to her husband. Every day, more hope and more love.

She wiped her eyes. "You see, sweetling? We love you very much and trust you to make us proud."

"I will try." Arya wiped her face with the back of her dress sleeve. "Very hard."

"Good," Ned said, kissing her forehead. "Off with you now. Remember - you may only talk of this to Sansa, Robb, or Jon. No one else."

"May I talk to you about it?" she asked.

"Of course, my sweet one. You may always talk to your mother and father about anything," he replied. 

"All right." She kissed them both on the cheek before leaving.

They watched her walk out the door and then Ned turned back to Catelyn. "Will she ever stop surprising us?"

Catelyn chuckled. "She does have quite a talent for it. You did well, my love. I am glad you were here. I would not have known what to say when she came to that conclusion by drawing comparison between herself and your sister."

He shook his head. "No, Cat, you always know how to speak to the children."

"But it meant more, coming from you. You knew Lyanna, and I did not."

"Aye," he said. "But I like to think you would have loved her. She would have been quite an entertaining aunt for the children, too." His eyes had a faraway look to them, and his face looked sad as he turned to look out the windows. She thought he might say more, but he suddenly turned and asked "how was it with Sansa?"

Catelyn laughed drily. "Well, it went rather quickly. I'm not sure how much of it has really sunk in yet. But her faith in songs and romance is probably stronger than ever. She was very pleased to know that you had been a dashing hero, saving your nephew and granting your sister's last wish. She asked several times how I was feeling about all this. It was sweet, really. She said that she had tried to never think too much about the fact that you had been with another woman, and was so glad to find out that you had not. She loves you very much."

Ned frowned. "Cat...I have come to realize how much you must have spared me. I have not had any conversations with the children regarding Jon's origins, and I realize that that was another painful task I left to you."

Catelyn ducked her head and chewed on her bottom lip. A long moment of silence stretched between them.

"I keep discovering how this has been hurting you, in ways I did not consider. For you must have had conversations with the children, and with your family."

"Yes," she said simply.

"I am so sorry. I should have told you long ago, Catelyn. I was selfish."

"Selfish?" she asked.

Ned nodded. "I knew telling you would be hard, and it would hurt you. I wanted to avoid it." He laughed harshly. "It was cowardly of me. I think I thought if I never talked about it, you would forget I had brought you home a bastard, or perhaps one day, it would not matter anymore."

"You told me you love me," she said quietly.

Ned jerked his head. "I do love you, Catelyn - "

She put up a hand to stop him. "And I you. And we are married, and have five children together, and have built a wonderful life together."

"Yes..." he questioned, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart as he was not sure what she would say next.

"So it matters, Ned. It will always matter. _Everything_ matters."

He hung his head in silence. She reached a hand to cup his cheek and pull his face to look at hers again. He leaned into her palm.

"And what matters most now, my love, is that we move forward, together. I will ever be honest with you in my actions and feelings, but I do not want to dwell on this forever. I love you. I choose to forgive you and be happy with you."

"I want to make you happy, Cat. I want to deserve you."

"I will let you make me happy for the rest of our lives, my love." She smiled at him and tilted her head. Catelyn knew herself and knew that it would take more time to truly forgive her husband. He was starting to see more and more how this lie had affected so much of her life - how much pain it had caused her. It was good for him to know, and to apologize, but she meant what she said - she did not want to dwell on this forever. She knew it would not help. They could only move forward.

His eyes met hers, and she saw many emotions wrestling behind his expression, but determined love and hope shone through the most.

 _How did I ever think his face plain and expressionless?_ she wondered. _For now, there is no dearer face in the world._

"Come closer, my lord."

She reached a hand to him, and he moved from the chair until sat upon the bed, facing her.

"Closer, Ned."

He chuckled, and then twisted until he was gently reaching past her still-bandaged arm, placing his hand over her body and leaning his weight on it, hovering over her frame.

"Is this better, my lady?"

"Yes, I almost have you where I want you."

He chuckled again, a low rumbling of his chest that made desire stir in Catelyn, for the first time in the many weeks since she had first opened her eyes after her fall.

"Where is it that you want me, Cat?" he asked, a shy smile she only ever saw in their bedchambers ghosting his lips. _He's nervous,_ she thought.

"Closer," she whispered, softly placing her hand on his doublet and fisting it, forcing him to lean ever so slowly toward her.

She could smell the godswood, leather, ale, and something that was just her husband, and her eyes slipped shut without meaning to as she inhaled his scent. She felt his lips finally reach hers, pressing gently upon her mouth, his hand coming up to thread his fingers into her hair and hold her head close against him.

They kissed again and again, but Catelyn could feel that Ned was restraining himself. She parted her lips and felt a thrill when he shuddered as her tongue slid over his.

He leaned back from her mouth but continued to plant kisses along her jawline and neck. "Does this make you happy, Cat?" he whispered against her skin.

"It is a _very_ good start," she managed.

"And does this make you happy?" She sighed as his other hand slid around her waist and he pulled closer to her, still trailing open mouthed kisses, now on her collarbone.

"Yes...Ned...yes..." His hand in her hair lowered to trace over her shoulderblade, dragging his fingers up and ghosting along the neckline of her dress. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his fingers skim just around her breast. 

"But how happy am I allowed to make you this night, my love? Are you truly well enough?"

"I am finding it hard to care if I am well enough."

He chuckled. "Catelyn..." he warned, but kept kissing her neck.

"I have rested. I have been given leave to attend meals. I feel stronger every day, truly."

He pulled back to force her to look at him. Her eyes were dilated and the lids hung heavily over them. She smiled dreamily at him. "Gods, you are beautiful, Catelyn. How is it that you are mine?" He planted another kiss upon her lips, but it felt decidedly more chaste.

"I will not risk your health, Catelyn."

"But I am sure I am fine. It has been so long, Ned. I know you must be...suffering...and I _want_ you." He growled, low in his throat. She leaned toward him again.

"No, Catelyn. Let us stop here. Or I will not be able to stop."

"Exactly -"

"No, Cat. Please. I will not risk you."

She sighed and saw that he truly meant it in his eyes, even as clouded with lust as they were. She leaned back against the pillow to put a distance between them, but watched him hold his breath as he watched her lick her lips. She could feel his desire almost tangibly, and could see the evidence of it in his breeches, which sent another ripple of arousal through her. It thrilled her to know how much he wanted her. It always thrilled her. "What will it take to convince you I am ready, my lord? I can see that you are..." she placed a hand over the bulge in his breeches and watched in satisfaction as his eyes rolled back. She squeezed softly, and he shuddered, but then dutifully grabbed her hand and placed it on the bed, drawing a deep, calming breath as he did so.

"Will you ask the Maester if he thinks it is alright?"

"Really, Ned, I feel fine."

"Catelyn - he did not even want me to sleep next to you these last few weeks in case I forgot myself and jostled your arm."

"But you have not. We would be fine, my love. And we could be...thoughtful and careful," she said, motioning toward the bed as if she had already thought of how they might best position themselves in order to seek pleasure but not disrupt her injuries.

Ned's eyes glanced over the bedcovers and then back to his wife. He smirked. "I know _I_ am capable of restraint, but are _you_?"

She smacked his chest playfully. "You work me up into a state, refuse my advances, and then _mock_ me, ser?"

Ned stared at her for a long moment, and then moved quickly and placed his hand back in her hair, pulling her to him in a deep kiss that Catelyn felt in every part of her and left her breathless when he finally pulled away.

"You have had _me_ worked up in a state for seventeen _years_ , Cat," he panted. His eyes were dark as they looked into hers. "If you truly are convinced you are well, if Maester Luwin agrees, and if you are able to walk unassisted to and from the Great Hall, and if you are not too weary tonight after the evening meal..."

She grinned as she shook her head. "I will not be weary. I will be quite not weary."

Ned grinned back at her. "We shall see. Now I must go and find the Maester for you, and speak with the cooks."

He kissed her and stood up to leave. "The cooks, Ned?"

"Yes," he replied, walking toward the door.

"But...why?"

"I have a special request to make."

Catelyn cocked her head in confusion. "And that is..."

"That they serve only one course for dinner tonight."

Ned waited at the door until his meaning registered on Catelyn's face. When she laughed, he ducked out the door and headed to the Hall.

Catelyn swore she heard him whistling on his way.


	25. Chapter 25

She smiled to herself, listening to her husband's quick steps down the hall. Something deep ached at the awakened desire left unfulfilled by his innate patience and chivalry. She should have known he would want to consult Luwin about her health. She rubbed her legs against each other under the furs, shivering at the thought of the desire stretching through the evening's meal and then finally attended to tonight. She cared little what the maester said at this point - she was almost completely convinced her body was well enough to attend to the needs of her husband, and her own.

In truth, she _was_ tired. Tired of thinking, of wondering, of doubting.

At the end of it all, she saw very little she could do but forgive her husband, _again,_ and work to move on with their lives, because it was worth it.

She was tired of thinking about Ned and his love and trust for her. She simply wanted to feel it. Catelyn wanted to feel their love without second-guessing for a moment.

She knew that he missed her in that particular way, as well. Besides his absences for battle or her time after birthing their babes, they had never gone so long without making love since the early, strained days of their marriage when they had reunited at Winterfell. Even knowing her heart was still struggling with the impact of Ned's truth, she wanted to feel him - above and beneath her. She needed his breath on the most intimate parts of her, wanted to hear her name on his lips and see the look in his eyes that would remind her that he was hers and hers alone - she needed to know that only she knew him like that.

Selfish, he had said. _He **had** been selfish,_ she thought. She shook her head. It hurt less every day. But might it always hurt? She had seen Jon Snow at meals, and he was the reminder that he always was, though now in a different way. But, as was their custom, they avoided each other completely. Once she caught Robb looking between them, a look of questioning on his face. _It cannot be any different,_ she wanted to say. _For the sake of the secret my husband bears for his sister's son, and because I am not sure I could bear it._

 _  
_She forced such thoughts out of her mind. She had but a few hours until the evening's meal. She needed to bathe, dress, seek the Maester, see to her children. She thought she would find Luwin first, then see to her young wolf pack for a bit of the afternoon. That would leave her time to bathe and dress. For some reason, she wanted to look her best tonight, for Ned. She smiled to herself. _But you **do** know the reason, Catelyn. _ _You do not want resistance._

 

Ned felt himself smiling as he entered the courtyard. His sons were practicing archery and he could not help reaching out to ruffle Bran's hair, standing up against the wall with him to watch Robb, Jon and Theon take turns at the target. It was good to see Jon and Robb laughing, trading jests over each other's performance. 

"You seem happy, Father," Bran said, interrupting his thoughts.

"I am, Bran."

"Is it because of Mother?"

 _Gods - had he been_ _outside the door?_ Ned thought with panic. Before he had time to respond, Bran continued.

"I am happy she is better. It is so nice to have her at meals again."

Ned chuckled in relief. He had overthought Bran's comment. "Indeed. Thank the gods."

"I have missed her," Bran said, softly.

"I have, too, son. But she gets better everyday, Bran. I cannot think of anything in the world that would keep your mother away from all of you." 

He leaned toward his son, putting an arm around his shoulders. Bran smiled up at him. "I must be off. I will see you at dinner," he nodded at Bran and made for the maester and his next round of business.

 

He found Luwin bending over scrolls in his tower. "Maester." Luwin nodded back in greeting.

"How can I help you, Lord Stark?"

Ned looked out the window, deciding what to say. "I wanted to ask if you would speak to Lady Stark."

The maester look concerned. "Is she well?"

"She believes so, yes."

"I see. So then, is there something she is concerned about?"

Ned's hand went to the back of his neck, and he rubbed it in thought for a moment. "She wishes to know if you think her well enough to resume normal activities."

"I have told her as much. I've enjoyed seeing her again at meals these last few weeks, as have the children. She knows to rest when she needs to, my lord. And she promised to not mount and ride, nor do anything that would overexert her physical capacity at the moment."

Ned grimaced at the Maester's choice of words, running his hand over his beard. "Indeed. Well. I think she would like a word with you, all the same." Ned turned to leave.

The good maester cleared his throat before speaking. "My lord, if I may be so bold..." 

Ned stopped in the doorway, but did not turn. The maester continued.

"I will go speak to Lady Stark, but I assure you that I have never met a woman quite like her. I trust she knows her mind, and I trust she knows her body to be well enough for any activity she desires at present."

Had Ned bothered to turn around, he would have seen the twinkle in Luwin's eye, surmising the activities Lord and Lady Stark were in question about.

"Thank you, Maester. I shall take that into consideration," was all he said, before Ned walked out the door and back to the courtyard, crossing the open space to reach the halls and towers that held his solar.

 

He felt he was still catching up on so many missives, ravens, meetings, requests from the people of Winterfell and beyond. HIs long absence, followed by the vigil at Catelyn's bedside had left a seemingly endless mound of papers across the grand wooden table in the room that had held the Stark council for generations. He glanced out the window, judging by the sun he had perhaps an hour or so before he should bathe, dress, and then head to the hall for the evening meal. His pulse quickened in anticipation. If Catelyn truly was well, tonight he would have her in his arms again...

He forced the thoughts out of his mind, settling in his great chair to look over the various parchments, taking quill to ink to answer inquiries.

Lost in his work, the hour passed quickly, and he was surprised to see the sun had set and it was well past time for him to head to his chambers if he wanted to bathe and redress before the evening meal. But as he organized his papers and then headed to his bedchambers, he realized there was not time to do more than wash his hands and quickly change his doublet.

After changing his shirts, he leaned over the water basin, scrubbing the ink off his hands, and running his wet fingers through his hair and over his beard, glancing around his room as he did so. Dust had settled everywhere that it could, and the servants no longer bothered to keep the chambers stocked with firewood or candles - he was seldom here longer than it took to bathe and change when necessary. He wondered if it should bother him that the servants all knew his sleeping habits had led him to his wife's chambers nearly every night for the last fourteen years or so. Did they change his bedlinens anymore? He nearly chuckled to himself. It would be a waste of their time if they did, really. He could not recall the last time he had spent a night in them.

He walked quickly down the hall to Catelyn's chambers, feeling his pulse rise in anticipation to see her. He opened the door directly into her room, calling her name.

"Catelyn - " he stopped. She was not in bed, nor by the fire, nor at her vanity. "Catelyn?!"

She was nowhere in her chambers. Heart beating more rapidly now, he raced down the steps, two at a time, and crashed into the Great Hall, where he saw the face he had been searching for, turned towards his incoming noise with an amused expression.

"My lord?" she said. 

He steadied in his boots.

He felt slightly out of breath, and glanced around the Hall quickly to ascertain the attention he had acquired due to his entrance. Only a few faces, mostly his children, turned toward him, and so he walked quickly to his seat without announcement. He reached for her hand and pressed it quickly to his lips. "My lady - I went to find you in your bedchambers to escort you here - "

Catelyn's raised eyebrow bid him pause. "I thought to prove myself able to arrive without escort, my lord. Per your request." She waited for him to pull back from her hand. "I found myself easily able to walk here on my own, though I appreciate the sentiment, my love."

"I see," he said, sitting into his chair. "Well, then."

Catelyn continued to look at him, a question on her face. Pulling back completely to look at her, he drew a quick breath in through his nostrils and turned away, but not before noticing everything about her.

She had found the time to bathe that he could not, and a sweet smell that was uniquely her own swept over him. Her hair was mostly left down in waves that fell over her shoulders, as she knew he liked, but much of it was pulled back and braided behind her head, which exposed just enough of the front of her dress - modest by most standards, but low for those in the North. The neckline graced the top of her bosom, outlined by a few freckles he liked to think were secrets that only he would ever know about his wife's sweet skin.

Even with her broken arm still wrapped and then protected in a sling against her body, and the healing scabs that formed around her face and he knew he would find in other places, she was breathtaking.

He turned to the food on his plate and filled wine goblet, and he decided to take a rather large gulp of wine to calm himself before commenting out of the side of his mouth, "you look very well, Catelyn."

"Do I?" she replied, in a low tone that made him still and turn to her. Her eyes were dancing, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

He leaned until his lips were hovering just near her ear and whispered, "I think you might know that you do, my lady." The low rumbling of his voice drew out an involuntary sound from Catelyn, stoking that same fire of desire they had started in her bedchambers hours earlier. She felt his hot breath on her skin before he dipped his head and placed a soft kiss under her ear. She fought for control over her voice.

"I am glad to know you think so, my love." The look he was giving her as he pulled back and resettled into his chair made her cheeks feel warm. She reached for her wine glass to have something to hide her face behind.

 

Catelyn had been eating meals with her family in the Great Hall for the last two weeks, but still felt she had missed too much of their daily lives during the several weeks of her confinement. As much as she anticipated an amorous reunion with her husband that night, they lingered through the meal, sipping wine, laughing at the children's stories. Ned's hands and eyes were never far from her own.

She looked over the people that sat in the Hall with them, and as she had many times in the last few weeks, silently thanked the gods that there was no lasting physical damage from her fall, and that she had healed so quickly. She felt very blessed as the Lady of Winterfell, as she watched it's people eating, drinking, and enjoying each other's company.

Despite Ned's revelation about Jon's true parentage, due to it's secrecy, her interaction with the "bastard" did not change. She watched him laughing with Robb and the other boys at the table over some story Theon was telling, and searched herself, wondering if she felt differently toward him. _Could I love him?_ she wondered. At that moment, he caught her eye and she quickly turned away. _No, not yet. Perhaps never. But I no longer hate him,_ she decided. She shook her head against unwanted thoughts. She wanted nothing to cloud her evening.

"What is it, Cat?" Ned asked.

She turned and smiled. "Nothing, love. I am very happy at the moment." She leaned toward him and was rewarded with a small kiss. Behind her she could hear Arya mumbling "ew!" as she caught their moment of affection. Catelyn turned to shoot an exasperated look at Arya, and when she turned her head back towards Ned, caught his eyes below her neckline.

"Lord Stark! Are you trying to look down my dress?"

"No," he replied, but his tone was mocking. She raised an eyebrow.

"What? A man can't enjoy his wife's figure?" he glanced down again in appreciation and then picked up his wine glass. She laughed.

"You must stop, or we shall embarrass Arya out of the Hall." But she smiled at him, and he knew she wasn't truly mad. Especially when she lay a hand on his thigh under the table, asking, "Are you looking forward to enjoying your wife's figure in all ways tonight, my lord? For I know I have thought of little else for the last few hours..."

He swallowed hard at the wine in his throat, and when he looked back at her, his eyes were dark and intent on only her.

"I believe I have had enough of this meal. The children look quite ready for bed, wouldn't you agree?"

Before she could answer, he had pushed his chair back from the table and stood, holding his hand out to her. She laughed as she accepted his hand to help her to her feet. "You suddenly seem very eager to leave the feast, my lord."

"I am." 

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat underneath her palm. Desire fairly rippled off him. "I see," she managed.

They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, before Ned pressed a quick kiss to her hand. "I will see the children in bed. I will come to you soon," he murmured.

"Do not leave me waiting too long, my lord."

 

Jessa helped her out of her dress and into the simple shift one of her maids had constructed - sleeveless on her left arm, which was in the sling, and held together by ribbons over each shoulder, making it easier to dress and undress with her arm still bandaged, which had to be thread through and rewrapped when she dressed for dinner. Her maids had also resewn a dressing robe, unstitching the left sleeve, so that she could easily pull that over herself if she was alone. Catelyn smiled as her chatty lady-in-waiting helped her into the robe, wondering if her efforts were wasted, as she did not think she would be in the clothes for very long.

Ned came into the room before Jessa had a chance to take down her hair. When Catelyn locked eyes with him in the mirror's reflection, she bid Jessa to leave. Ned walked over to the bench where she sat, and stood behind her. The fire and candles threw shadows about the room, and she could not tell what the look on his face meant - the heated desire from their exchange at dinner seemed muted. Something far closer to thoughtfulness had taken its place.

He reached out and brushed her cheek tenderly from behind, watching her in the mirror. She turned her face into his palm and kissed it.

"My love - what is it?" she asked.

"You are so very beautiful."

She smiled.

Instead of sitting next to her on the bench, he pulled up a sitting chair and placed it directly behind her.

"May I help you with your hair, Cat?"

She nodded in the mirror, and he began searching her tresses for the pins that held the braids twisted up. She sighed in pleasure to feel the tension released from her head as the braids dropped to her shoulders one by one, and he used his fingers to unwind them. He had always loved her hair.

He finished and spread it across her shoulder. Suddenly, he leaned forward in his chair, and wrapped one arm around her waist and hooked the other under her knees to gently but swiftly pick her up and drag her back into his lap.

"Oh!" she said in surprise, as he turned her sideways and placed her legs over the armrest, holding her upper body firmly against him. His arms came around her and cradled her. After a long moment, her surprise gave way to a feeling of affection and tenderness and she snuggled into her husband, feeling the strong muscles of his arms around her, his steady heart beating. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, reaching for his hand to twine her fingers through it, and bringing it up to her mouth for a kiss. He sighed against her hair, pressing his lips against her forehead. One of his hands drifted idly down her legs to her stockinged feet and squeezed them gently, rolling his hands around her small ankles.

His ability and inclination to be physically affectionate had surprised her in the beginning of their marriage. Sometime after Sansa, once they had both truly decided to be happy together, she found that her husband would initiate more than just the physical connection necessary to continue to produce children; he would hold her hand quite often, play with her hair when they sat together,  and kiss her tears away if ever she cried. He loved to remove her stockings at the end of the day to massage her feet, and always guided her through a doorway with his hand on the small of her back or around her elbow. That he would do these things in the daytime kept her constantly aware of his touch, and built a desire for it out of the habit of it, and she missed it dreadfully whenever he was away from her. And later, at night, his hands on her cheeks or waist or small of her back were replaced with his lips. He made her feel loved, before they had so recently found they could say the words out loud.

She reveled in his attentions now, happy to put off her desire to be undressed and tangled in bed with him, to feel him wrapped around her in front of the fire. But he seemed to have something on his mind, something he was wanting to say. She watched the flames dance and waited for him to speak.

"Catelyn..." he began. She tilted her head up to look at him. "Gods, so much has happened these last few weeks."

"Indeed, my love." She kissed his knuckles and waited for him to continue.

"You amaze me, Cat." 

She looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"You have been through much. Yet you remain the strongest, most loving, most remarkable woman."

"Ned..." she shyly ducked her head back into his neck as he continued.

"Putting our children you've given me to bed tonight - they are perfect - " Catelyn snorted. "Well, very well done, at least," he conceded with a smile as he started stroking her hair again. "I am proud to be their father, to be your husband. You have done everything so well, my lady." He kissed her hair again, before continuing softly. "You are more than I ever could have asked for. So much more."

"I am happy to walk this life with you, Ned," she said in a small voice.

She heard him swallow before he replied. "I would have no other."

"Nor would I."

The hand that had been caressing her right ankle came up to her cheek then, turning her face towards his. There was a solemnity on his face, an almost sadness that stirred Catelyn - she was tired of laying abed and watching the life of the castle happen around her, she wanted to feel it between her and her husband.

She leaned forward planted her mouth over his, twisting her hand away from his and twining her fingers into his hair, tugging him closer. She felt his mouth open under hers and relished the contact of his tongue against her own. They kissed again and again, and her hand moved down to stroke his neck, strong and corded with effort in the twist of their kiss, angling under his doublet to squeeze at the muscles of his shoulder. Their earlier kisses may have been merely suggestive, but after a moment, there could be no doubt of the intention behind this. He moaned against her mouth and she could feel him hardening under her bottom. She rocked into it.

He sucked in his breath with heavy intention, pulling away from her mouth and he asked, "Are you sure of this, my lady? I could just sit here with you, I do not - "

But she cut him off with her lips on his again, her hand in his hair pulling him back. When she heard and felt his grunt of approval, she knew she had won. His right arm went behind her knees, the left behind her shoulders, but he did not break from her kiss. She could feel the muscles in his core working to propel them both out of the sitting chair until he was standing with her in his arms, cradled against his chest.

She leaned back and away from their kiss as he staggered the first few steps. "This is quite romantic, Lord Stark, though I am not sure how necessary."

He did not reply until he had carefully placed her upon the furs that covered her bed.

"It was very necessary, Lady Stark, for your health, and for speed," he said, hiding a smile. She swatted at him half-heartedly. "What I meant to say is, I wanted to," he continued. He pulled his doublet and shirt over his head, and she could not help a small sigh at muscles that rounded his shoulders, the patch of hair across his chest that veed down his stomach and into his breeches. She reached out a finger to slowly trace its path, enjoying his sharp intake of breath.

He pretended not to notice her staring, leaning in to kiss her. "Can I help you out of this, my lady?" 

She nodded, and their fingers went to the ribbons at her shoulders, tugging at the strands until the fabric came loose. With Ned's help, she lifted out of the garment and flung it toward the edge of the bed.

She reached her good arm around to pull him close to her, wriggling her naked chest against his, sighing with pleasure at feeling him settle over but not in between her legs. He was careful to stay propped to the side so as not to disturb her arm, bandaged in a sling against her waist.

Her hand that could moved up and down his back, tracing the muscles taut above her body. Their mouths met again, the slow movements of his tongue against hers  drawing out a tingling low in her belly. One leg crept up of its own violition around his hip, trying to urge him closer, and yet he did not budge, only adjusting himself over her to ghost her ribcage and her hipbone with his fingers, then back up again, tracing lightly past where she wanted it. She tried to move so that his hand would fall upon her breast, but he did not flinch, focused on kissing behind her ear.

She sighed in exasperation, biting her lip to keep from rolling her eyes, before saying, "Eddard Stark. Your wife wants you. Please. I am ready and willing. Touch me. Take me."

"I will, Cat. But first.." and he dipped away from her mouth, lips and tongue caressing her neck, collarbone, dipping lower to meet the valley between her breasts. "these are mine," he said, she wasn't sure to whom, as he kissed the freckles that dusted her chest. He glanced away from her bandaged arm, traveling lower, seemingly content to take his time. Her hips rocked of their own accord against his ministrations, trying to meet him where he was, and he chuckled at her efforts.

She whimpered impatiently as he sat up on his knees, propping herself up on an elbow. "Ned, you do not have to, I can see you are ready, as am I. Please." She eyed the hard bulge against his breeches. He looked down at himself and pressed his hand against it to relieve the pressure, stroking through the fabric, his eyes raking back up over her body as he did so. Catelyn felt a little breathless, squeezing her legs together at the rush of desire that flooded to her sex to watch him watch her.

"Ned," she whispered.

"I want every part of you. And I would take my time tonight, Catelyn," his voice was deep and she felt like it vibrated through her down to her toes curling up against the sheets.

She nodded weakly. He moved off his knees, resting on his elbows over her stomach, kissing and licking her breasts and groaning when he felt her hand gripping his hair. He trailed down to the stripes left from carrying their babes, mouth open over her hipbones until he moved lower, past her sex, kissing her inner thighs at such a slow pace Catelyn could feel herself writhing against the sheets and hear herself begging "Ned, please, please," over and over, almost embarrassed as her hips seem to buck up of their own accord, trying to make contact with his mouth. He held her in place with his strong hands but she could not stop the sounds she was making. Finally he moved and settled with his face between her legs. He looked up and locked eyes with her, and Catelyn was sure she was so far gone at that point that his breath alone would send her over the edge.

"It is too much, Ned. Please," she whispered and then his mouth was finally on her. The contact made her throw her head back and make a sound somewhere between a choked laugh and a sigh - it was relief as much as pleasure. Her hand went to his hair, and she groaned in frustration that her other hand was stuck in the sling at her side. She wanted it holding his head against her, on her own breast, on his shoulders, all at once. His eyes were dark on her, and she could see his own hips grinding into the edge of the bed in response to the sounds she was making, in rhythm with his mouth. The work of his tongue was spinning her weightless, and it took incredible effort to keep her eyes open. 

"Gods, Ned," she panted, pulling on his hair. "I am so close. I would have you with me. I want you inside of me." He shook his head. "Ned, I beg you. Come here." He pulled back with reluctance, but when he saw smile on her face beckoning him closer, he moved to quickly pull down his clothes and join her on the bed. He settled his lower body between her legs and she moved eagerly to receive him, but he did not enter her. Instead, his weight carefully off her bandaged arm, but his elbows framing her face, he leaned in and kissed her, long and hard. She could taste herself on his tongue, and her sex welcomed the pressure of his hips replacing his mouth, as she instinctively began moving against his leg. She could feel his length against her, and she wound her leg around him to urge him on, urge him closer, yet he still did not enter. Frustrated again, she pulled back, his name a question on her lips - 

"Ned - "

He grimaced, "Are you sure, Cat? I don't want to hurt you - "

"You won't, I promise." She gripped at his back to bring him closer.

"You will tell me to stop, you will say something the moment - "

"Ned! Gods, I could burst for how much I want you inside me. Yes, I will tell you. Now please, _please_ , stop talking and make love to your wife before she goes mad."

Finally convinced, he kissed her again, shifting his weight and positioning himself right above her. "I love you, Catelyn," he said, so serious, so sincere.

She smiled at him, almost laughing in frustration that he would bring her so close to the edge, only to make her dance upon the precipice with his patience and chivalry. But she loved him, gods, she loved him.

"Show me," she challenged, and they groaned together as he entered her slowly, her hips rising to meet him, searching for the pressure of his pubic bone against her. He rocked into her again and again, and her nails raked down his back to grab his bottom and urge him to move faster, harder, and take her to where she wanted to be. The sight of his arms, muscled and tense over her, a fine sheen building from his efforts, hair slick against his forehead fueled her lust for her husband.  Looking below to watch where their bodies met over and over again swelled her desire back up to the breaking point, and she knew it would not be long.

She knew he was holding back for her sake, and would probably not be convinced to let go, although she wanted it keenly, ached for him harder against her, filling her. "Gods, Ned, you feel so good, so good inside me," she panted, and saw something shift in his expression that urged her to keep talking. "Harder, Ned. I'm so close. Please," and she was rewarded when he bit his lip and reached down to drag her leg higher over his hip, losing his restraint for a moment and thrusting into her fully. She cried out his name over and over, and it seemed to spur him on, until he was encouraging her.

"Come on, Cat. Come. I want to see you. Come for me."

And finally she was there - her body was moving against him without control, her nails digging deep into the flesh at his lower back to mark him, and an endless stream of "yes, Ned, don't stop," escaping her mouth as she tried desperately to press him deeper inside her. Her bandaged arm ached to throw itself around him, as his hips slapped against hers a few more times, sending aftershocks through her as he grunted with effort, then looking into her eyes as he finished, slowly pumping the last bit of his seed inside of her, a slow smile etching across his face that she could not help but return.

Her limbs felt heavy with her release, her breasts peaked and sensitive. She longed to hold him against her, feel his solid heaviness keeping her grounded. She wanted to tell him a million things, to laugh, to cry. This was what she had wanted - to feel so wrapped up and loved by him that she could not think of anything else. What she felt for her husband in that moment was more than she could put into words. But she knew she was happy.

He leaned down and kissed her deeply, her heart pounding against her ears, their bodies slick against each other. "You are all right, aren't you Cat?" he asked, and she nodded, not ready yet to speak. He looked relieved as he pulled away and slipped out of her and to her side. She immediately missed him. He lay on his back, breathing heavily, a look of pure contentment on his face, and then he turned back to her and threw a leg and an arm over her, burrowing his head in her hair. She turned to face him.

It is strange, she thought, how years together can change you. The face so close to her own would not have made her pause or made her heart flutter when she was a young girl. But that same face now, even scarred and lined with the constant worry Ned carried like a cloak over himself, made her feel many, many things. She looked forward to having it lay next to her on this pillow for many years to come.

His eyes looked into hers, and she felt his breathing returning to normal, and her heart felt incredibly full.

 

"I love you, Ned." The words still felt somewhat new, to say outloud, to mean them so much. There were still many things outside these walls that were to be faced in the morning, but she had never felt more sure of how much she loved her husband.

He blinked drowsily at her, a soft smile on his lips, his hand squeezes her hipbone.

"Are you happy, Cat?"

"Very."

"Good. That is all I want."

He cupped her cheek to pull her for a kiss, then reached to pull the covers over her, and she felt sleepiness pulling at her. She turned on her side, gingerly laying her arm sling between them, and they lay nose to nose as she dug her toes between his legs. He chuckled and kissed her forehead.

"I love you. Sleep, my lady. I will hold you."

His arm around her waist anchored her to the bed. His love around her anchored her to their world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this might be the end, y'all. it's been fun. :)


End file.
